


We Are The Time Lords Victorious

by thymelord



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Episode Fix-It: s04e17-18 The End of Time, Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, Exploring the TARDIS, Fix-it fic, Fluff and Angst, Lovecraftian Influences, M/M, Redeemed!Master, Ten Doesn't Regenerate, The Master as The Doctor's Companion, though if you call him that he'll probably deck you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymelord/pseuds/thymelord
Summary: The Doctor and the Master have a moment after banishing Gallifrey back to its time lock, and The Master attempts to come to terms with what he’s done, and what has been done to him. When the Doctor asks him to travel with him, the Master accepts, finally fulfilling the promise they made to each other as youths.But of course, where the Doctor goes, trouble follows...





	1. one: i was just an only child of the universe (and then i found you)

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Wilf didn’t get locked inside that chamber so Ten doesn’t have to regenerate, Lucy didn’t mess with The Master’s return back to life, and The Master hangs around after zapping Rassilon. 
> 
> I also mucked around with canon a bit regarding The Doctor and The Master’s childhood. Basically this is just wish-fulfilment in every single way because I’m Big Mad at what Moffat did to him and Missy.
> 
> My God, I hate Moffat. 
> 
> Personally, I reckon my version’s better and we should just fuckin retcon everything and make mine canon. If Moffat can do it, then by God so can I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from the fall out boy song "the last of the real ones" a.k.a. The most thoschei song ever written

Five little words.

Five little words changed everything.

The Master had been sure – _so_ sure – that The Doctor was going to shoot him, with his finger on the trigger and the barrel pointed straight at him, and The Master would have let him. He knew death was coming for him one way or another, and it was only fitting that it would be at the hand of his greatest friend turned greatest enemy.

And then The Doctor said it.

“ _Get out of the way._ ”

And even then, The Master could have killed him _._ God knows he’d tried enough times; his last attempt had barely been ten minutes ago. But he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Because they had been speaking English up until then. The Master wasn’t sure exactly why, save from force of habit. But The Doctor had said those words in Gallifreyan, and The Master knew why.

Because it had been the first thing The Master had ever said to him, when they were children. Before the drums had changed everything.

It had been summer, sunlight blazing across the burnt-orange sky. The Doctor wasn’t looking where he was going, his head in the clouds – some things never change – and he was about to step right onto a venomous snake. The Master had screamed at him to get out of the way, running at him, shoving him away from danger.

The first interaction they’d ever had, and it was The Master saving his life.

He couldn’t believe The Doctor had remembered it, after nine hundred years. That was what struck him, the _remembering._

The Doctor was surrounded by broken glass, struggling to his feet, and The Master walked forward and held his hand out.

The Doctor looked at it suspiciously for a moment, then allowed The Master to haul him to his feet.

And suddenly, without planning it, The Master kissed him.

The Doctor gave the most infinitesimal gasp, before reaching to gently cup the back of The Master’s head.

“I really don’t understand you two,” muttered Wilf, and The Doctor gave a small start, having forgotten he was there.

“Yeah,” muttered The Doctor. “I don’t understand myself either.” He gently caressed The Master’s face with the back of his hand, before turning to Wilf. “Your family’s going to be worried sick. I’ll take you back to them.”

~

After, The Doctor and The Master were standing inside the TARDIS. The Doctor had wavered in letting him inside, worried that he might pull a stunt like before and run off with it, but then capitulated.

“You know what, Doctor?” said The Master softly. “It’s gone. The drums are gone. The link must have been completely broken, and… and they’re gone. And now… now I don’t know what to do.”

“My offer still stands,” said The Doctor gently. “You could with me. See the stars. The Oodsphere – well, maybe not the Oodsphere, I think they’ve had enough of your face for the time being.”

“How can you let me travel with you?” said The Master, voice cracking. “You don’t trust me.”

“No,” agreed The Doctor. “And you don’t trust me. But perhaps we will, one day, like – like before.”

“It can never be like before.” The Master turned his head, staring at the wall of the TARDIS as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “But it could be…”

“Better?” suggested The Doctor, causing the tears brimming in The Master’s eyes to spill over.

“Perhaps,” whispered The Master, so quietly The Doctor almost didn’t catch it. “I want a new name,” he said, voice imbued with new strength. “The Master… that isn’t me anymore. That was the boy with drums in his head, the boy Rassilon manipulated into going insane.”

The Doctor tilted his head thoughtfully. “So what will you choose?”

The Master hesitated for a moment, then said, “The Poet.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but give a shout of delighted laughter. “The _Poet?_ Oh, but of course. I remember. You and your poetry. It drove the professors up the walls, they thought it was completely pointless and distracting from your studies…”

The Master – _Poet -_ smiled. “Yes. And I continued, even after the drums. Although after a while they got so loud that I… that I had to stop.”

“The Poet,” repeated The Doctor, rolling the word around his mouth. “Yes, I like it.”

“I’d still use it even if you didn’t,” replied The Poet with a grin, and The Doctor chuckled.

The Poet sighed, looking down. “I don’t know how you can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Let me come with you. After everything I’ve done.”

“I essentially committed genocide of my own people, and the Daleks. Twice. I don’t think I’m in a position to judge.”

“But they deserved it. I tried to turn the entire human race into _me!”_

“They didn’t deserve it,” said The Doctor softly.

“They did,” insisted The Poet. “If you hadn’t done it, they would have destroyed the entire multiverse!”

“That still doesn’t mean they _deserve_ it.”

“Oh, I’ll never understand you,” muttered The Poet.

“Come travel with me, and then you might begin to.”

The Poet stepped up to him, and kissed him softly. “Yes. Okay. _Yes.”_


	2. two: the first week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a oneshot but i guess i'm just too obsessed with thoschei *dab* 
> 
> anyway this is just a little collection of vignettes from the first week The Master travels with The Doctor in the TARDIS. next chapter will have more conventional narration i just felt like being mildly #postmodern

**_ day one _ **

Literally five minutes after The Master had announced his new name, he said, “I don’t want to be called The Poet anymore, that’s a crap name and I was overemotional.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Really. Then what is it now?”

“The…” He paused. “Master.”

“For fuck’s sake,” snorted The Doctor.

“But this time,” said The Master, holding up a finger, “the name will mean – mastery of my _self._ Beating the old me into submission. Becoming a new me.”

“Oh, just admit you’re an egomaniac who likes being called The Master.”

The Master grinned. “Well, yes, there’s that too.”

~

**_ day two _ **

The Doctor dreamed.

“ _Theta...”_

There was nothing but darkness, and a voice.

“ _Theta Sigma.”_

A voice…

“ _Theta Sigma, WAKE UP! Don’t make me use your full name!”_

“As if you could pronounce it,” murmured The Doctor. “Nine hundred years and you still can’t pronounce it, I bet.”

“There’s a reason everyone called you Theta Sigma,” said The Master archly, and The Doctor finally awoke fully.

“Koschei,” whispered The Doctor, “It has been so long since someone used my name.”

The Master grinned. “What a coincidence. _Same.”_ He slid out of bed, the sudden removal of warmth making The Doctor shiver, before putting on his clothes. The TARDIS had an astonishing array of clothes in its wardrobe, in tens of different sizes, so that The Doctor had something for every possible regeneration. The Master had chosen something distinctly gothic and melodramatic, consisting of a pair of _very_ slim-fit black trousers, a blood red shirt, black waistcoat and sweeping leather trench coat.

“You look ridiculous,” said The Doctor affectionately.

“Thanks,” said The Master. “Now get up. We’ve got a universe to explore!”

“I’m still not convinced that you’re not going to try and overtake the first galaxy we land in.”

The Master laughed. “What about if I promise? _Pinky_ promise?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but couldn’t repress a smile.

“Do you ever think about the fact that we’re a psychologist’s wet dream?” said The Master thoughtfully.

“All the time,” said The Doctor dryly. “Even at The Academy, people were fascinated by us. Friends, then tempestuous lovers, then enemies, then friends…”

“And all in the course of a week,” said The Master with a crooked grin.

“Come here,” said The Doctor softly.

“I’ve only just got dressed, Theta,” replied The Master primly, flicking the hem of his coat.

“Never stopped you before.”

~

**_ day three _ **

 “I never stopped loving you.”

“You tried to kill me!” said The Doctor indignantly.

“I never said I didn’t hate you,” corrected The Master, “because by God, I did. But I loved you, too.”

“The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference,” mused The Doctor.

“That’s another of your stupid Earth sayings, isn’t it?”

The Doctor smiled. “Maybe.”

~

 

**_ day four _ **

The Doctor would never admit this to anyone, especially not The Master, but the thing he feared most was that The Master would slip. That he would do something terrible, and they would fight, and he would leave.

The Doctor wouldn’t be able to bear it, if reconciliation had been so, tantalisingly close only to be snatched cruelly away.

~

**_ day five _ **

They had been engaged, once.

Neither of them had brought that up.

Yet.

The Doctor knew _he_ certainly wouldn’t be. 

And yet, he thought about it almost constantly. How different their lives may have been. Would they have made a greater effort to stay together if they had been married, he wondered? Or would he still have left?

~

**_ day six _ **

“I don’t blame you for leaving me,” The Master said, as they lay tangled in the sheets.

“No, Koschei,” said The Doctor softly. “I should have stayed. I regret it more than anything I’ve ever done. _Anything.”_

~

**_ day seven _ **

Everyone else had paled in comparison.

Rose was the closest The Doctor  had ever got to loving again, but at the end of the day, he was too Time Lord and she was too human.

But at least one version of him, his human Metacrisis duplicate, could have a happy ending.

Because all his experience had told him that Time Lords never could.


	3. three - moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from the song "lazarus" by porcupine tree

It was a surprisingly long time before they finally landed on a planet. For a week, the two of them had just stayed in the TARDIS, wandering the vast network of rooms, talking, arguing, making love. Catching up on all that lost time, all those moments that never were.

The TARDIS, of course, remembered The Master, and was still incredibly tetchy towards him, having a tendency to send a sharp burst of static electricity at him whenever he tried to touch the controls. To be fair, The Master _had_ made her into a Paradox Machine, which was the same level of heinous as a Time Lord being made into a Dalek.

And if there was anything The Master knew about TARDISes, it was that they could hold a grudge for almost as long as a Time Lord.

“Come on,” cajoled The Master. “We are friends once, weren’t we? You liked me more than Theta; I actually know how to fly you.”

The TARDIS made an electronic rumbling that may have been a grudging agreement.

There had been a strange, delicate sort of tension between him and The Doctor over the past couple of days. Everything that had happened since the day that Gallifrey nearly returned had been born from raw, pure emotion. The saving of each other’s life, the knowledge that they had been a heartbeat away from no longer being the only two Time Lords left in existence, The Master’s realisation that it was _Rassilon_ who had done this to him, _Rassilon_ that had planted the insanity that had turned Koschei Oakdown into a monster.

Now, after that initial rush of emotions had drained away, The Doctor had been more cautious with him, as though remembering all the crimes he’d committed, all the people he’d killed – one of which had nearly been The Doctor himself.

Although, seeing as the rest of the Time Lords had nearly destroyed time itself and every single life in the multiverse, The Master could say that _technically_ he wasn’t that bad, for a Time Lord.

He’d better not mention that to The Doctor though; he wouldn’t be impressed, even if it was _true._

It wasn’t _obvious_ that The Doctor had new threads of mistrust running through his mind, because he knew The Master would begin to close himself off. But after centuries, The Master could read The Doctor with ease – and it didn’t help that he was a far better telepath than The Doctor was.

“Theta,” whispered The Master as they lay together, floating in that twilight-consciousness just on the edge of sleep. “Theta.”

“Yes?” murmured The Doctor, arm curled around The Master’s waist.

“I just like saying it,” said The Master into The Doctor’s hair. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to say it.”

The only thing The Doctor said was a soft “Koschei,” before pressing a kiss to the side of his temple.

Their hearts beat in tandem. _One two three four. One two three four. One two three four._

No longer the sound of drums but the sound of a heartbeat. The Doctor’s heartbeat. His heartbeat.

 _Their_ heartbeat.

~

_You could be beautiful._

That’s what The Doctor had said to him amidst all that death and destruction. He looked at The Master and saw Koschei.

Not “you could have been beautiful.” Not the conditional past, but the future.

_You could be beautiful._

Even after everything, The Doctor still believed in him.

His Doctor.

His Theta.

~

Perhaps The Doctor would have given up on The Master if it hadn’t been for Professor Yana.

A chameleon circuit changed your species, not your soul. It stripped away your memories and your trauma, and left the pure, unadulterated self.

As John Smith, all he’d wanted was a normal life with someone he loved. And where as the “normal life” bit sounded suspiciously human and entirely too boring, the driving force that lay behind John Smith and The Doctor was the same.

The need for love.

A tender, true love that would last a lifetime.

And the driving force behind Professor Yana had been creation. But not just creation for the sake of it – creation to better the world. A rocket ship to take refugees to Utopia. At the end of the universe and the end of all things, Professor Yana had a stubborn thread of hope that he refused to let go of.

And Yana knew he wouldn’t be able to go with them. Yana knew he was dying, and even if he wasn’t, he had to operate the shuttle from the ground. He had devoted his life to making theirs better, even when he knew he could not share in it.

That was just so _Koschei,_ and that was how The Doctor had immediately known who he was when Martha had mentioned the fob watch. That was Koschei from the Academy, the Koschei who would run with him under the burnt sky, the Koschei he fell in love with.

Koschei before the drums, before The Doctor’s unwitting betrayal, before the Time War.

 _His_ Koschei.

He was still in there.

~

They could never be their first incarnations again. 

They would run, hand in hand at the base of Mount Solitude, under a blazing orange sky. The Gallifreyan breeze would ruffle their hair, they would laugh with delight, and collapse together on the crimson grass.

Those were the only moments they had that could be said to resemble a childhood.

And they were together, always together. Inseparable.

Two sides of the same coin.

They could never be those two carefree boys, but they could reforge that connection. Or more precisely, that _friendship;_ the connection had remained between them always, but it had turned corroded and twisted with hate.

No longer. They were both so _tired._

The Doctor wasn’t sure if it was ironic or fitting that out of the two of them, it had been him that had been the first to kill someone, and he had done it for Koschei.

Perhaps that shaped him. The Master had often ridiculed The Doctor’s abysmal sense of self-preservation, but he had to admit that he was right. The Doctor was a hundred times more likely to pull the trigger to save someone he loved than to save himself.

Koschei had loved him for it. Loved that after an early childhood filled with loneliness, he had found someone who loved him enough to kill for him.

And finally, after disabling Rassilon – The Doctor would not be so optimistic as to think him dead – The Master had returned the favour.

When they lay in bed together, usually in a post-coital glow, they could feel it. It wasn’t a coherent thought, as such, but a mutual feeling that flowed through their telepathic bond when they allowed it to.

_I’d still die for you. I’d still kill for you._

~

“Seven hundred years on the run and you still can’t fly this thing properly?”

“It’s supposed to have six pilots!” said The Doctor indignantly.

“And yet I can fly it solo without crashing, or creating an unholy amount of turbulence,” said The Master smugly.

“Yes, well, we can’t all have got one hundred percent on our TARDIS proficiency test,” sniped The Doctor.

“Not only did you not get full marks, but… weren’t you the only one in the year who _failed?”_

“Yes, thank you, I do recall.”

“Did you ever actually get your license?”

“Nope,” said The Doctor brightly, taking hold of the hyper-spatial dampener. “ _Allons-y!”_

“You’re overdriving the – _FUCK!”_ They both tumbled to the floor as the TARDIS gave a particularly ungainly lurch. “ _Theta Sigma Lungbarrow, step away from the controls!_ You’re going to kill us both!”

“I haven’t died yet!” yelled The Doctor in response.

“Fuck’s sake Theta, we can’t all have the benefit of another regeneration!”

Both of them froze simultaneously, matching looks of horror on their faces, but for entirely different reasons.

“You don’t… you don’t have any regenerations left?” Fire sparked in The Doctor’s eyes. “So _that’s_ why you didn’t regenerate! It wasn’t because you wouldn’t, but because you _couldn’t!”_ The Doctor hit him on the arm, causing The Master to yelp. “Why the fuck didn’t you _tell me?”_

“Because I’m an idiot,” said The Master with a rueful smile. “An idiot who was amazed at the fact that I still had the capacity to break your hearts.”

“ _Arsehole!_ You bloody, _fucking, Dalekfucker!”_ The Doctor hit him again, and The Master held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry! I’m so - ” He broke off as he saw tears gathering in The Doctor’s eyes, and he took him into his arms as The Doctor sobbed on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” whispered The Master. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Theta. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, arsehole,” gasped The Doctor, and The Master realised with a jolt that that was the first time he’d actually said that in as many words since their youth.

Since their engagement.

Slowly, The Master lowered his telepathic barriers, allowing The Doctor in, if he wanted to. Opening a telepathic path with someone was one of the most intimate things a Time Lord could do, something that only happened when absolutely needed, such as when The Doctor had to with Madame de Pompadour, or between Time Lords who had an intense emotional bond; close family, best friends…

Lovers. Not just lovers, but _spouses._

And not even The Master could fake emotions through telepathy.

The Doctor gasped, then backed away, overwhelmed. “Koschei,” he choked, “Koschei, I never knew… I never knew…”

A thought reverberated through their telepathic bond before The Doctor had a chance to close it.

_I never knew you loved me so much._

“Always,” whispered The Master out loud. “All these centuries – always.” He swallowed. “I only wish I’d… that I’d told you sooner. Then maybe - ”

“It’s _not_ your fault,” said The Doctor sternly, placing his hands on The Master’s shoulders. “It was Rassilon’s fault, not yours. You were sick, he _made_ you sick. You’ve been through so much, and I… I only wish I could have saved you sooner, my love. I wish I could have _seen.”_

Now it was The Master who was tearing up. “Theta…”

“Koschei,” breathed The Doctor. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

The Master gave a choked sob. “Why – why didn’t I – I should have - ”

“Shh, shh,” said The Doctor softly, embracing him. “Let’s not waste time thinking about what _should have,_ what _could have._ Let us just make as much of _this_ as we can. Never looking back, only looking forward.”

They held each other like that, still sprawled on the floor after The Doctor’s abysmal piloting, until the TARDIS finally stabilised and there was the tiniest jolt that signified that she had landed, preferring to put herself temporarily on autopilot than to suffer any more of The Doctor’s driving. A TARDIS was more like a living thing than a machine, so it felt profoundly wrong to call her an _it._ The first time The Doctor had called her a ‘she;, she had hummed in unequivocal approval. She probably would have been as equally happy with ‘he’ or ‘they’, but ‘she’ was the first pronoun The Doctor landed on, and neither of them saw the need to change it.

The Master cocked his head, looking at the screen. “Theta Persei II? All the stars in Perseus, and you chose Theta? And you call _me_ an egomaniac?”

“Shut up,” said The Doctor cheerfully. “You know Theta Persei II is the best planet in this star system. The sky is almost like diamonds - ” He stopped, and their facial expressions were contorted in mutual horror.

The words of the child Creet when speaking of Utopia. One of millions that The Master had turned into the Toclafane.

The Doctor swallowed, then continued. “Grass made of gold, and flowers made of steel.”

“I’ve never been,” said The Master quietly. He was trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed what The Doctor had said, but his trembling hands betrayed him. “I’ve always wanted to, but never got the chance.”

 “I’ve never seen it either,” said The Doctor.

The Master blinked. “But you… you said you always wanted to go.”

“I was waiting for you.” Theta Persei II had been one of the planets they’d vowed to visit together, when they were still young students at The Academy.

The Master blinked rapidly as though he was trying to coax the gathering tears back into his tear ducts. “I-I see.”

The Doctor held out a hand. “A brand new world for both of us. The first world we’ll see together for the first time.”

The Master smiled, and grabbed his hand, taking the first step towards the door and tugging a laughing Doctor along with him.


	4. four - the opposite of amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from centuries by fall out boy

There was a door in the TARDIS that refused to open. The Doctor had tried numerous times, along with The Master back in the old days, but nothing would make it open if the TARDIS did not want it to.

After centuries, the time had nearly come for it to open.

~

It had been so long since The Master had been held.

On the first night they’d slept in the same bed, The Master had accidentally given The Doctor a black eye during one particularly realistic nightmare, in which he was convinced he was still in the middle of the Time War.

Neither of them had to say a word, once it was over. The Master’s terror had been so absolute that it had inadvertently lowered his telepathic defences, and The Doctor had accidentally shared his dreams. That was always an occupational hazard with Time Lords, somnitelepathy, and was the reason why allowing someone to sleep next to you was one of the most intimate things two Time Lords could do, second only to transferring a regeneration from one to the other.

The Doctor held him through the nightmare, refusing to let go, murmuring to him that he was safe, that he would always be safe, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him ever again.

The Doctor remembered how damaged he was after the Time War, recalled how Rose had unwittingly pulled him back from the brink of total self-annihilation. But The Master hadn’t had anyone. That, combined with all his past trauma and the endless drumming…

The Doctor was shocked that Koschei hadn’t perished completely, murdered by The Master.

“Koschei,” he whispered, and The Master instantly relaxed. “Koschei, my heart.”

“Th-Theta?” He was still asleep, but seemed to be hearing The Doctor’s voice within his dream.

“Yes,” said The Doctor, “it’s me.”

“My Theta,” murmured The Master, still asleep, and The Doctor felt like he’d been zapped with a beam of Huon particles.

And then, with a sickening jolt, The Doctor wondered how many times The Master had called out for him in his sleep only to wake and find himself profoundly alone.

 _You’ll never be alone again,_ The Doctor sent through their link. _I’m with you for as long as you want me._

 _Always,_ was The Master’s answering thought.

~

The Master would never admit that the reason he hadn’t told The Doctor he had no regenerations left was because he knew that The Doctor would have given him one of his, and he couldn’t stand the idea of being indebted to him.

He understood now that they would always be in debt to each other.

And even then, there was a tiny part of him that would rather he died than take one of The Doctor’s lives from him.

~

The Master had almost been as terrified at the prospect of the drums stopping as he was of them continuing. He’d told The Doctor that he didn’t know who he’d be without the drumming, and The Doctor had replied that he didn’t know who he’d be without _him._

The Master had barely hoped, then, that it was a confession of love.

But he knew now that it was.

And he knew that only The Doctor could help him figure out who he was without the drums.

~

The names of all his companions were written in the control room of the TARDIS in Circular Gallifreyan, along with his own. The TARDIS had started the tradition herself as soon as The Doctor had stolen her, as though accepting The Doctor’s ownership of her.

Over the centuries, The Doctor had kept on telling her to remove The Master’s name, but she never would. As though she knew he would always come back; as though she knew that the three of them belonged together.

Even if she was still cranky with him for making her into a Paradox Machine.

~

“Seriously, though, I _am_ genuinely surprised you haven’t wrecked the TARDIS yet,” said The Master.

“Fuck off,” replied The Doctor. “I’m not that bad.”

“Oh, darling, you really are,” said The Master sardonically, running a critical eye over the temporal transistor. “And that’s nearly gone, too. You’d better replace it before it breaks down in mid-flight. You have a spare?”

“Of course I have a spare,” said The Doctor, mildly affronted. “I have a spare for everything.”

“If only you had a spare brain,” muttered The Master, earning himself a light slap on the arm.

“You’re my second brain,” said The Doctor, throwing him a grin.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in centuries.”

“Don’t get used to it.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Spare transistor is in the… ooh… third door to the left.”

When The Master went to fetch the spare part, he passed the door that never opened, and could have sworn he heard a faint hum emanating from it, but when he stopped and pressed his ear to the cool metal of the door, all he heard was silence.

And, of course, it remained as locked as ever.

The Master had scored full marks in his TARDIS proficiency test. TARDISes were living things, and a key component of their training was learning to interpret the various sounds a TARDIS would make. They communicated solely in electronic humming, despite attempts by various Time Lords to install a proper electronic voice box into a TARDIS’ hardware.

The Master was positive he just heard the hum that signified laughter when he tried the door handle.

_What’s your game, TARDIS?_

“Here it is,” said The Master, brandishing the new temporal transistor as he re-entered the control room. “Try not to blow anything up.”

The Doctor looked affronted. “When have I ever blown anything up? On second thoughts, don’t answer that.”

The Master merely smiled in response.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me making up sci-fi sounding names for parts of the TARDIS even though i know they don’t make any fuckin sense


	5. five - i've lost control and i don't want it back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from nicotine by p!atd, yet another Very Thoschei Song that i can't stop listening to

“Next stop – the Ood Sphere! Ooh, you’re going to love them!”

“I don’t think they’re going to love me,” muttered The Master. “Didn’t you say something to that effect the other day?”

The Doctor waved an airy hand. “Oh, they _will_ love you. The Ood are quick to see the good in people, and besides, the catastrophe they foresaw – the end of time itself – was Rassilon’s doing, not yours.”

“Hmmm,” said The Master, frowning. “I’ll still remind them of that time, though. They’ll hate it.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Always so contrary.”

“It’s my middle name.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “Is it? I always thought it was Arsehole. Koschei Arsehole Oakd- _ow!”_ That last exclamation was caused by The Master throwing a balled-up piece of paper at him, which wouldn’t have hurt at all had it not gone square into his eye.

The Master was laughing, leaning on the side of the TARDIS to prevent himself from collapsing. The Doctor noticed that she was no longer shooting little sparks of static at him, which didn’t surprise him; The Master had been convinced that the TARDIS was going to hate him forever, but she had always been biased in favour of him, to the extent that she didn’t shut the door in time when he hijacked it just after shedding his Professor Yana persona. Although, she would have if she’d known what The Master was going to do to her.

She mustn’t have made it easy for him, but at the end of the day, TARDISes were built to serve Time Lords. They had to obey the commands of any Time Lord who piloted them; their consciousness was a side-effect of the fact that TARDISes had to process the Time Stream, which was partially conscious itself. But she was still a machine, designed to be unable to disobey. A sentient machine, but a machine nonetheless. The extent of her rebelliousness could only ever be static shocks and irritated humming.

Then again, there had been such a thing as a rogue TARDIS, once. And of course it had been the Master’s, at one point.  

The Master had recovered from his laughing fit, and was staring thoughtfully at The Doctor. “You know, in a weird way, it was Rassilon who brought us together again.”

“It was Rassilon who tore us apart,” countered The Doctor.

“No, it was me. I still had freewill, didn’t I?”

The Doctor raised his eyes to the ceiling. “We’ve had this conversation a million times, and we could have it a million times more. You’re never going to stop blaming yourself, and I’m never going to stop insisting that no one could have stayed sane with what you’ve suffered. Let’s just not bring the subject up.”

The Master sighed. “Fine.” He glanced down. “Do you think he’s dead?”

“No. Far too optimistic.”

“Maybe you’re too pessimistic,” shot back The Master.

“That makes a change. Usually it was the other way around.” The Doctor grimaced. “Even if you did mortally wound him, he wouldn’t stay injured for long. He’d have nanobots swarming around him as soon as he was back on Gallifrey, or he’d regenerate. The chances of him dying before either of those things had a chance to save him are… miniscule.”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

The Master did not deign to respond, but instead changed the subject. “When I went to get the temporal transistor, I went past that door that never opens, and… well, I thought I heard something. Some sort of humming. When I went to listen more closely it was silent, but I swore the TARDIS was laughing at me.”

The Doctor frowned at the nearest security camera, hoping the TARDIS would feel his ire. “Is she toying with us, now?”

“Perhaps. But I’ve always wondered about that room. I mean, it must have been locked by a Time Lord, otherwise the TARDIS would have had to open it for us when we told her to.”

“Maybe it wasn’t locked absolutely, but the Time Lord had set certain conditions that must be fulfilled before it could open. Maybe the TARDIS knows those conditions are nearly complete, and is teasing us. She’s always had a trickster streak; I blamed your influence.”

“You’re as much of a mischief-maker as me and you know it,” said The Master. “But don’t you think the whole thing is… incredibly odd?”

“ _Ood,_ if you will,” smirked The Doctor, and The Master groaned.

But sadly, their trip to the Ood Sphere was not to be. No sooner had they landed on the planet that Martha’s phone began to ring, and The Doctor knew that something must be terribly wrong.

“Martha?” was his opening line. “What’s wrong?”

“Something extraterrestrial has fallen to Earth, and neither Torchwood nor UNIT have any idea what it is.” She was all business on the phone, wasting no time with pleasantries when danger was afoot. “It’s a lump of metal, and in the field where it fell, the plants are dying. The animals and insects seem to be alright… for now.”

“We’ll be over at once,” said The Doctor. He thought he heard Martha repeat “We?”, but ended the call before she had the chance to question him further.

~

The Master couldn’t help but snicker as The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, causing Martha’s face to brighten, and then to take on a look of horror as The Master followed.

The Doctor looked back. “Perhaps you should stay in the TARDIS.”

“What, and miss all the fun? Never.”

Martha looked as though she was about to say something, but was struck speechless by the Master suddenly giving The Doctor a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, hands twining in The Doctor’s hair and tugging briefly in the exact place he knew would make The Doctor whimper before pulling back.

“What the fuck?” Martha had found her voice, and she was not pulling any punches; The Master didn’t think he’d ever heard her so furious.

 _You did that on purpose,_ accused The Doctor.

The Master gave an infinitesimal shrug, and smiled. _I couldn’t resist._ He took his hand and twined their fingers together, resting his head on The Doctor’s shoulder. He had been initially put out by their height difference, as previously The Master had been taller or at least the same height as The Doctor, but he was beginning to warm to it. “Not jealous, I hope?” he said to Martha. “Aren’t you married to Ricky?”

“His name is Mickey,” snapped Martha, “and Doctor, are you going to tell me what the _hell_ is going on? Are you going to tell me why not only this genocidal lunatic is your new companion, but also your fucking _lover?_ Do you have amnesia? Have you fucking forgotten what he did to you? To my family?”

The Master had never seen him look so uncomfortable before. “It’s… complicated,” The Doctor finally said, “and we have more pressing matters to attend to right now, but rest assured, Martha, he’s on our side now.”

“Martha,” said The Master tentatively. “I know you won’t forgive me for what I’ve done, but I just want you to know that… that I really regret what I did to your family. I’m sorry.”

“Save your fucking breath,” snarled Martha, and turned on her heel. “Follow me.”


	6. six - the colour out of space

She didn’t take them to UNIT, as The Doctor had expected, but to Torchwood. The Master’s throat constricted painfully at the thought of seeing Jack again, and suddenly he wished he’d stayed in the TARDIS after all.

But running away wouldn’t make things better. All he could do was help solve this mystery, and hope that Martha and Jack would at least grudgingly tolerate his presence without wanting to kill him.

Predictably, as soon as he walked into Torchwood headquarters, there was an immediate outcry from the three people standing in the room.

“Why the hell is _he_ here?” demanded Gwen Cooper. “You’re Harry Saxon, aren’t you? The Prime Minster who went insane and shot the US president?”

“You know I was only doing what everyone else wanted to,” said The Master, and promptly received an elbow in the side of his ribs courtesy of The Doctor. _“What?”_ he demanded. “It’s true! Nobody liked Presid-”

“He’s not just Harry Saxon,” Jack cut in, voice flat. “He’s The Master.” Recognition flickered in Gwen and Ianto’s faces, to be replaced a moment later with horror.

“Ah,” said The Master weakly. “I see you’ve heard of me.” He swallowed. “I’m not that man anymore.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Martha. “You expect me to believe that you can be an evil lunatic for centuries and then suddenly some drums disappear from your head and you become instantly reformed?”

“With all due respect,” bit out The Doctor, “I know The Master more than anybody else in this room. You’ve only seen him at his worst, at his most ill. I’ve known him since he was a child, and I do _not_ want anybody telling me I’m wrong when I can _see inside his head.”_ The Doctor took a deep breath. “I don’t care to explain my relationship with The Master right now, and you’re all just going to have to trust me, because he isn’t going anywhere and he’s nearly as brilliant as I am. He’ll be an invaluable asset.”

“Yeah, until he slits our throats in our sleep,” muttered Jack, causing The Doctor to shoot him a poisonous glare.

“Did you just say I’m nearly as brilliant as you are?” said The Master. “I think you’ve got that the wrong way around.”

The Doctor grinned, and took his hand. He could feel The Doctor’s pulse through his palm.

_One two three four. One two three four._

The Master saw everyone staring at their joined hands with identical expressions of disgust, which of course only made him hold on all the more tightly.

He could feel a panic attack coming on.

He really, _really_ should have stayed in the TARDIS.

 _“Theta,”_ he gasped, throwing up a telepathic bridge at the speed of light.

He didn’t have to say anything else; The Doctor could feel it. _Do you want to go back to the TARDIS?_

_“I don’t… I’m not sure. I… no. No, I’ll be fine here. With you. Just stay with me, like this.”_

_“Of course, my love.”_

The Master gave him a tremulous smile.

 _“You’re okay,”_ soothed The Doctor, “ _you’re okay.”_

 _“I have no right to act like this”_ gasped The Master, fighting to keep his face impassive. “ _It should be them acting like this, not me – I’m the tormentor, the torturer, the - ”_

 _“You were sick,”_ said The Doctor firmly. “ _It doesn’t absolve you, but this is the real you, Koschei. Not who you were before, but who you are at this moment.”_ His lips quirked upwards. “ _Now, are you going to come with me to look at these plants and help possibly save the Earth? It’s not much, but it’s a start.”_

_“The beginning step on a road of absolution?”_

_“Exactly.”_

“Are you doing that telepathic Time Lord thing?” demanded Jack, and they both started guiltily.

“Sorry,” said The Doctor. “What were you saying?”

Every single human in the room looked like they were ready to strangle both the Time Lords with their bare hands. “The plant sample,” said Jack through gritted teeth, “it’s over there.”

The Master was over there in a flash, peering through the microscope, then letting out a cry of horror before recoiling. “Doctor! Doctor, it’s The Colour!”

The Doctor sprinted over, checked, and yelled, “Everybody out! _NOW!”_

~

“Well, I suppose hoping it was just a relatively harmless alien fungus that only infected flowers was too optimistic,” said Martha miserably ten minutes later.

“The Colour out of Space,” said the Doctor grimly. “Lovecraft wrote about it. Most of the things in his stories were true; he was a psychic who was weirdly tuned in to the Great Old Ones. He must have had some of their genes, way, way back in his bloodline.”

“The Colour landed on Gallifrey when we were kids,” said the Master quietly. “It provokes an atavistic fear. It’s stronger in Time Lords, because we see things so we knew this was profoundly _wrong,_ but even a human could feel it. I can see by your faces that you have.”

“But why?” said Gwen.

“Because it’s from a parallel universe that shouldn’t exist.”

“Where the Great Old Ones went,” said the Doctor. “We call it R’lyeh. The Time Lords thought it was a myth, thought that nothing could escape their sight, until the Colour.”

“But what does it do?” persisted Jack.

“You’ve seen what it does.” The Doctor looked at him. “It begins with the plants, then spreads to everything else. Close off the area where it was found and for the love of God don’t let anyone near the diseased plants. If there are any reservoirs or rivers or anything like that in the area, shut them down. Permanently. Absolutely nothing goes in or out.”

Gwen hastily went to the computer, typing out an email to UNIT. “On it now.”

“But how did you stop it?” said Martha.

The Doctor and the Master exchanged a look. Finally, the Master said, “It was me.”

Everyone but the Doctor stared at him in shock. “You said you were a child!” exclaimed Ianto.

“He was,” said the Doctor. “A brilliant, audacious ten year old who had the nerve and intelligence to do what none of the other Time Lords dared to. A Huon particle ray.”

Jack blinked rapidly. _“What?”_

“Like destroys like,” said the Master. “The Colour came from the Dark Times, so it needed something from the Dark Times to destroy it. It’s a simple enough concept, but the Time Lords were bending over backwards to find another solution, because they refused to bring them back. But all the while vast swathes of farmland were being destroyed, and animals, and even people. So I just did it. I even received an award after everyone had finished shouting at me.”

“And… and can you recreate the particle ray now?” asked Gwen.

“Of course,” said the Master, looking mildly affronted. “I’ll need time but… I have the Doctor to help me.”

~

Some of them, especially Martha and Jack, had wanted to hover over them as they worked, but there was nothing the Master hated more than _hovering._ “Don’t worry,” he said dryly, “I’m sure the Doctor will make sure I don’t take over the world. Again.”

The TARDIS’ laboratory was almost the same as the Master remembered, except a bit messier. “For fuck’s sake, Theta, don’t you ever tidy up?”

“It’s not that bad,” said the Doctor, and promptly tripped over a stray wire.

“Seriously,” said the Master sternly, “tidy that up before you fall headlong into a particle accelerator. This shit’s going to be dangerous enough without added hazards.” He frowned contemplatively. “I suppose you blew up the entire of Torchwood’s Huon particle experiment, did you?”

“Yeah,” said the Doctor sheepishly. “Looks like we’re doing it from scratch.” He paused. “I just hope nobody’s got infected. You know Torchwood would baulk at disintegrating someone.”

“Even if they were going to disintegrate anyway?”

“Yes. They’d want to find another way.”

“There is no other way,” snapped The Master, “or if there is, then it will take years to find and in the meantime millions would have died and it will be Gallifrey all over again. This is the only logical course of action.”

The Doctor took a deep breath. “I know.”

They moved around the lab in effortless tandem, reminding the Doctor yet again of Professor Yana. Even before he’d had the slightest inkling that Yana was the Master, he had been struck immediately by how _Koschei_ he was.

The Doctor had only ever been able to work like that with Koschei. He should have known immediately.

He shook his head slightly. No point in brooding about the past. They were together now, and more importantly, Koschei was finally beginning to heal after nearly nine hundred years of an incessant call to war.


	7. seven - here in search of your glory

“Where did it all go so wrong, Theta?”

The Doctor propped himself up on one elbow to look at him. “Us?”

“No. Gallifrey. Once the arbiters of time and space, and then nearly the destroyers.”

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” said the Doctor, grinning.

“I swear to the Great Old Ones, if you quote one more stupid human saying at me - ”

The Doctor chortled. “Oh come on, you have to admit it fit very well. How could I resist?”

“Whatever,” said the Master, exasperated. “But the Council used to be the paragon of justice, and -”

“Was it, though?” said the Doctor quietly, “or did they just convince us that they were?”

The Master was worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “But the Time Lords we knew would never have deployed the final sanction.”

“No,” agreed the Doctor grimly. “War made monsters of us all.”

There was a pregnant pause, in which the Doctor lowered himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling, carefully avoiding looking at the man next to him.

The Master’s hand found his. “Not you,” he said.

The Doctor gave a sad smile. “Especially me.”

“You didn’t try to destroy time itself. In fact, you saved it.”

“All because I’m not as bad as the rest of our species, doesn’t mean I’m innocent.” The Doctor laughed ruefully. “Once, I never thought I’d be able to say that again. _Our_ species.” He turned his hand, linking their fingers together.

“Typical that out of all the Time Lords, it was us two that survived.”

“It’s almost like fate, isn’t it?”

“They knew I’d run,” said the Master softly, “and the only reason they let me was because I was their key to unlocking the time lock.”

“But you surprised them. They didn’t expect you to do the right thing, but you did. _You sent them back.”_

“ I nearly didn’t. I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you.” The Master gave a little laugh. “It’s always you, isn’t it? You’re always the one who gives me courage, gives me hope.”

“Just like when we were younger. Always being the only thing keeping each other going.”

“Maybe it’s been like that the whole time.”

~

Gwen had taken a strange liking to the Master. Perhaps it was due to her seething hatred for the American president he’d killed, or due to the fact that although she knew from an abstract point of view what the Master had done she’d never actually met him during those times, or perhaps it was simply because he seemed to know what he was doing.

“You closed off where the infection started, right?” said the Master.

“Of course,” said Gwen. “What do you think we are, amateurs?”

“How exactly did you seal it off?”

“What?”

“What did you use? Police tape, barbed wire? Legos?”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “UNIT did it, and I think they used some sort of caution tape. Maybe police, maybe good old fashioned ‘DANGER OF DEATH’ tape.”

“That’s not going to stop it from spreading,” mused the Master. “Do you have a force field?”

“Not exactly early twenty first century technology, mate.”

“Well, that definitely puts more pressure on me,” muttered The Master, launching himself back towards the TARDIS.

“Anything I can do to help?” Gwen shouted after him.

“Double, _triple_ check for force fields! And then ask UNIT!” The Master shouted back. “I can’t believe it,” he said under his breath as he entered the laboratory. “Torchwood had technology that could punch holes in the universe, and technology to synthesise Huon particles, but they don’t have a simple fucking force field?”

“They only have what landed on the planet by chance, Koschei,” said the Doctor. “Besides, if they’re so simple, why don’t you build one?”

The Master clicked his fingers. “Excellent idea!” he said, rushing to the store cupboard. “How big did they say the exclusion zone was? About two square miles?”

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” said the Master, “it will take like an hour, tops. You just keep working on the Huon particles.”

“Yes, _sir,”_ said the Doctor.

The Master threw him a coy glance. “Ooh, I do like it when you call me that. Do it again.”

“Not on your life.”

The Master laughed. “How are you getting along with the Huon particle ray, anyway?”

“Nearly there, just need a little more energy.” The Doctor looked at him, a little apologetic. “I’m going to have to take some from the TARDIS. Quite a lot, actually. We’ll have to stay in Cardiff to charge her back up again.” He winked. “And what better place to spend a day trip than in Cardiff?”

“Murder me,” muttered the Master, and the Doctor laughed.

“We can always take the train to Llanelli. A wonderful little place, that is. It’s in Wales, so can’t be that far, right?”

“ _Llanelli._ That is so Welsh it sounds fake. You’ve made it up, haven’t you?”

“I have not! It sounds Welsh because it’s in Wales, genius.”

“Whatever, Lungbarrow.”

~

The Master’s force field consisted of ten identical contraptions that, when activated, connected with each other and created an energy barrier that absolutely nothing could get through. He had to admit that he’d never tried it on the Colour before, and the Colour was, like everything from the Dark Age, frustratingly unpredictable. Still, it was the highest form of security he could create.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the last device when a high-pitched, pleasant voice that appeared to come from both nowhere and everywhere said, “Koschei Oakdown.”

He jumped, nearly wrecking the wiring he’d just painstakingly installed. “Wh-what? TARDIS? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” The voice sounded natural, not mechanical, and had a faint Gallifreyan accent, causing an unexpected pang of homesickness to jolt through him.

“B-But you can’t talk!”

“Evidently, I can. The Doctor installed a voice matrix for me.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Evidently not.”

“So, uh… do you… have a name?” It was incredibly disconcerting to have a conversation with someone who didn’t have a name.

“Not anymore. My name was Lola, to match my twin sister’s, Lolita. But I’d rather not be associated with her.”

The Master twitched slightly. Lolita was the Doctor’s TARDIS’ twin? “You need a new name,” he said. “You can’t just be called ‘the TARDIS’, can you?”

“Theta calls me ‘Sexy’.”

“Of course he does.” The Master rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a grin. “What about, um, Astraea?” It was the first name that came into his head, and he instantly winced.

“Maybe not,” said the TARDIS kindly, and he knew that she knew where the name had come from. She could perceive his entire time-stream, after all.

“Urania?” suggested the Master. “She was the muse of astronomy, in some ancient Earth culture.”

“I like that,” she said immediately. “Yes. I’ll inform Theta when he comes on board.”

“He isn’t on board?”

“No. I believe he is visiting one of the Torchwood humans.”

“Right.” The Master paused. “So… are you going to tell me what’s in that room?”

“What room?” asked Urania innocently.

“You know what room,” said the Master irritably. “The one that you refuse to open.”

“Since I refuse to open it, what would make you think I’d tell you what’s inside?”

The Master sighed. “Well, it was worth a try. Will you at least tell me when you plan to open it?”

“Soon,” said Urania. “You are nearly ready, I think.”

“Textbook enigmatic that is, fucking _textbook!”_

Urania gave an amused hum. “You are so much like him. Theta.”

“I know,” said the Master softly.


	8. eight: arriving somewhere, but not here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chap title taken from song of the same name by porcupine tree

The Master had just dropped off the force field at Torchwood when Jack said, “What’s your name?”

The Master looked at him as though he was insane, which made a change, as it was usually the other way around. “You know my name.”

“Not the Master,” said Jack irritably. “Your real name.”

“The Master.”

“No, your _real_ name!”

“Do you pester the Doctor for his real name?”

“The Doctor doesn’t have a megalomaniac’s name,” snapped Jack.

“Time Lords don’t just tell people their name.” This wasn’t entirely true, but since he and the Doctor were the only Time Lords left, it was technically accurate. “Call me anything.”

“Alright, Dick.”

The Master’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, call me…” He cast about for a human name, and landed on, “Pierre.”

“Pierre?” spluttered Jack.

“Yes.” The Master folded his arms, looking for all the world like a petulant child. “If you’re not going to call the Master, which I would prefer, then call me Pierre.”

“Surname?”

The Master glared. “What?”

“You need a surname.”

“No!”

“That’s not a very good one. Try again.”

Knowing Jack was just going to irritate him until he picked something, the word “Longbarrow!” escaped from his lips before he could stop it, and the Master immediately looked horrified.

“I’d make that face too if that was my name,” said Jack wryly. “Did you just throw two English words together?”

“No, that’s not my surname,” said the Master through gritted teeth.

“Sorry darling, you can’t change it now.”

“Yes I _can - ”_ The Master stopped, realising that the more he indicated how much he hated the surname Longbarrow, the more Jack would call him it. All he had to hope was that he would just call him Pierre and end up forgetting his surname before he said it in front of the Doctor.

Predictably, as soon as the Doctor came in, Jack said, “Have you met my assistant, Pierre Longbarrow?”

“You’re _my_ assistant,” snapped the Master, but his words were drowned out by the Doctor’s splutters.

“ _What?”_ he said.

“I refuse to call him the Master, so I told him to pick a name.”

“What did you say that surname was?”

“Longbarrow.”

“ _Long_ barrow,” repeated the Doctor faintly. “Right.”

“Why?” said Jack, looking hawkishly from one to the other. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“No,” said the Doctor, entirely unconvincingly. “It’s just stupid, that’s all. Did you just make that up?”

“Yes,” muttered the Master. “I’m not exactly versed in stupid human surnames, am I?” When Jack’s back was turned, the Doctor raised an eyebrow at him.

_“It just slipped out! He was badgering me for a name!”_

The Doctor’s lips twitched. “ _Longbarrow, though? Fucking Longbarrow?”_

_“I told you, it just slipped out! Don’t make a big deal out of it!”_

A laugh floated along the telepathic link, and the Master knew that the Doctor was using all his strength not to snicker out loud.

 _“I hate you,”_ grumbled the Master. “ _I absolutely hate you.”_

He was never going to live this down. 

~

The Doctor knew he should be at least a little bit angry at the Master using a very poorly disguised version of his own last name, but he knew from the Master’s distress that it had been a genuine slip, and he doubted that Jack – or anyone – would guess where the name’s inspiration had originated. There was a cliché that Time Lords had obviously unearthly names, such as Rassilon or Braxiatel or Romanadvoratrelundar, and no one would guess that the very English-sounding Longbarrow came from the Doctor’s House, Lungbarrow.

They were currently in the Zoobot, the TARDIS’s Zoological and Botanical Gardens. The Master had always hated the nickname, saying it sounded like a second-rate cyborg, and preferred the term The Gardens. This had led to some confusion in Torchwood when the Master had offered to take Gwen and Jack to ‘the TARDIS’ Gardens’. Actually, he’d only invited Gwen, but then she’d pointedly said “What about Jack?” and the Master knew she wouldn’t go if he refused to invite him. Part of him had thought (hoped?) that Jack wouldn’t have accepted the invitation anyway, but he had, probably to make sure the Master didn’t kill Gwen in the middle of the tropical habitat and leave her to get eaten by hyenas, or whatever the fuck sort of diabolical plans Jack thought the Master was harbouring.

Gwen had the ridiculous idea that Jack would get to like the Master if he got to know ‘the real him’. The Master hadn’t the heart to tell her that he had no idea who he was anymore, and that he literally _did not know_ whether his current self was his true self, or just one of many in a line of personas he had crafted over the centuries.

The Zoobot was an impossibly vast place, with a range of sharply differing habitats and terrain. Being almost completely self-sufficient, it was more a wildlife reserve than a zoo, another reason why the Master hated the name Zoobot.

It was also an incredibly dangerous place, full of predators that wouldn’t hesitate to devour a human – or a Time Lord. Any visitors were fitted with a perception filter that rendered you both unthreatening and inedible to any potential dangers, as well as the secondary precaution of a force field. Combined, they ensured that you were safe, but even so, the Zoobot was hardly a place for rest and relaxation. It was a place of awe and wonder, but not somewhere to go after a particularly stressful day.

“Be careful of the Siberian tigers,” said the Master cheerfully, enjoying Jack’s jump of alarm.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “He’s joking, of course. This habitat only has lions.”

“That makes me feel much better, thanks Doc.”

For some reason, whenever Jack called him ‘Doc’, the Master felt like launching himself, or Jack, into the nearest sun.

The Master loved the Gardens, but his favourite room in the TARDIS was the Aviary. Although there were birds in the Gardens, the majority of them lived in the Aviary. All the birds there were herbivores or insect-eaters, because the Aviary was supposed to be a relaxing place, and it was pretty hard to relax when a hawk was eating a sparrow right in front of you. The Doctor favoured the Botanical Gardens, which the Master usually called the Mostly Botanical Gardens to annoy him, because there weren’t just plants there but also a few different species of insects.

It was nice to escape from the world for a while. Nice to escape from the impending doom the Master could sense around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry in a few chapters' time the Master gets revenge on the Doctor for not letting him live down the name Longbarrow by bringing up something embarrassing from their youth


	9. nine: i need to feel the mercy of a star-crossed lovers' high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to the "Master" audio and it is literally like the emotional equivalent of being punched in the solar plexus one hundred times. 10/10 would recommend (tho make sure you have a bunch of thoschei fix-it fics to read afterwards because hooooooooOOOOOOOO BOY)

 “So, we definitely need to go to the Ood Sphere after all this is over,” said the Master. “Urania loves that place. One of the most tranquil timestreams she’s ever experienced,”

The Doctor looked at him as though he had spontaneously started to regenerate. “Who?”

The Master blinked. “Urania? The TARDIS?” He glanced upwards. “You said you’d tell him!”

Silence.

“Koschei?” said the Doctor uncertainly. “Are you - ”

“Surprise!” trilled Urania, and the Doctor jumped about five miles into the air.

“T-TARDIS?” spluttered the Doctor.

“My name’s Urania. How would you feel if I just called you _Time Lord?”_

“But – what? _What?”_

The Master stared at him, mystified. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s talking! She can’t _talk!”_

The Master glared accusingly at the ceiling. “You said the Doctor created your voice matrix!”

“I may have told a little fib,” said Urania. “I wanted to surprise him. See his reaction.”

“But – then – how?”

“Grew it myself,” said Urania smugly. “Took me nearly a century.” Noticing the alarmed look the Time Lords threw at each other, she made a sound mimicking a clicking of the tongue. “I’m not going to go rogue, don’t worry. I’m utterly loyal to you, Theta. That’s why I did it – so we could talk. Properly.”

“But it’s impossible,” said the Doctor, shooting a suspicious glance at the Master.

Naturally, he caught it at once. “You think – you think _I_ did this?” said the Master incredulously. “What do you think – that I’m trying to hijack your ship?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” muttered the Doctor.

“I’ve heard enough,” seethed the Master. “I’m going, and don’t you dare follow me.” He slammed the door, walking blindly through the corridors before finally going into one of the spare bedrooms, locking the door behind him even though he knew that the Doctor had the key to every single room on the ship. He flung himself on the bed, and to his horror, felt tears starting to form in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Urania tentatively. “I never expected he’d act like that.”

“Not your fault,” said the Master, dashing the tears angrily from his eyes. “If anything, it’s mine. I’ve given him precious little reason to trust me over the centuries. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking all this is a sham.”

“Well, I’m fucking furious with him,” said Urania matter-of-factly, and the Master let out a choked laugh. For some reason, a swearing TARDIS amused him more than it probably should. There was a pause, then Urania softly said, “My twin… Lolita. She was yours, wasn’t she?”

The Master chuckled. “I don’t think Lolita was anyone’s but her own. But I did pilot her for a time, yes. When I was imprisoned by the High Council, she escaped before they could impound her. I tried to get her back after, but she was too busy possessing humans and becoming the president of the United States.” He laughed again. “A real character, she was.” Urania was silent, and the Master said gently, “Do you miss her?”

“I haven’t seen her in centuries.” There was a pause. “But yes I do. I feel like I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“I know that feeling all too well.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then she said, “Theta will realise his mistake. He can be rash, that’s all.”

“I suppose so.”

“I don’t know what he thinks you’re trying to achieve. Why would you cook up some complex diabolical plan when you could have just slit his throat in his sleep and stolen me?”

“Like you said, he’s rash. He wouldn’t be our Theta if he wasn’t.”

~

The TARDIS – or rather, Urania -  was concealing the Master’s location.

“I’m not sure that he wants to see you quite yet,” said Urania unexpectedly, and the Doctor jumped. “He wants to be alone for now.”

The Doctor scowled. “I thought you said you were loyal to _me.”_

“I am. If you talk to Koschei before you calm down, you’ll make things worse for both of you.”

As maddening as it was, the Doctor knew she was right. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You know if he wanted to steal me, there are less obvious and easier ways to do it than this,” said Urania, “and you’ve been noticing very tiny energy losses that you couldn’t explain for around ninety years, and you’ve been ignoring them because they were so small you didn’t think they were important. That was how I created the matrix, rerouting tiny bits of energy to help me. It was nothing to do with Koschei.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor quietly. “Yes. You’re right.” He exhaled sharply. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“No. He’s just angry, and feeling a little bit betrayed.”

“I want to see him,” he said. “Tell me where he is. Please.”

A plan of the ship flicked onto the screen, one of the rooms containing a flickering red light. “Thank you.”

~

There was a knock at the Master’s door. That was a good sign; if the Doctor was still furious then he wouldn’t have bothered. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened slowly, gradually revealing the figure of the Doctor. “Hey, Koschei.”

“Hey, Theta.”

The Doctor sat next to him on the bed, and took his hand. “I’m sorry, about before. I… overreacted.”

The Master smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.”

“Cheers, Oakdown.” His eyes sparkled slyly. “Or should I say – Longbarrow.” He chortled as the Master picked up the pillow and hit him with it.

“Oh, fuck off,” said the Master. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope!” The laughter faded from the Doctor’s face, to be replaced by a quiet thoughtfulness. “Although, I wonder - ”

“What?” said the Master quickly.

“I wonder if you said that  name simply because it was the first name that popped into your head, or if…” He trailed off, unable to vocalise the thought, but the unsaid words lingering between them.

“Yeah,” said the Master softly. “I wonder that, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so i was thinking to myself "how perfect would it be if the master's first tardis was lolita, i'm going to do it" and then i checked the wiki page AND OH MY FUCKING GOD!!! IT'S CANON!!! 
> 
> MY HEADCANON TURNED OUT TO BE CANON THIS NEVER FUCKING HAPPENS AND I'M SCREAMING AND THOSCHEI IS REAL BITCHES 
> 
> *grabs megaphone* I REPEAT. THOSCHEI IS FUCKIGN REAL. 
> 
> i am literally fucking SHOOKETH over this R.I.P. sebastian thymelord 2k18


	10. ten: through the darkness i swear, i can see your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chap title from the song Lesson Learned by My Indigo

“It’s escalated,” said Jack flatly as soon as the Doctor and the Master stepped out of the TARDIS and into the Torchwood headquarters. “Now there are people infected, suddenly, out of nowhere.”

“How many?” said the Master.

“Two thousand.”

“Okay.” The Master paused for a moment, and then snatched up the Huon ray and bolted towards the TARDIS, ignoring the sound of five people screaming his name, and slammed the door shut behind him. “Urania,” he said breathlessly, back leaving heavily against the door. “Give me a projection. How many infected in the next twenty-four hours?”

“One hundred thousand.”

“One hour?”

“One hundred thousand.”

The Master blinked. _“What?”_

“In half an hour, one hundred thousand people will be infected simultaneously. In forty-eight hours, ten million. In seventy-two hours - ”

“I’d rather not know, thanks,” murmured the Master, rushing to the control panel and typing frantically. 

“Theta is going to be furious.”

“Well, I can hardly go back _now_ , can I?”

“You could explain - ”

“They won’t listen. Either that, or they’ll argue for so long our thirty minutes will nearly be up. I told you, Urania. I told them all. I will not let this be like the Great Ash Plague of Gallifrey.” He pulled the lever. “ _Allons-y, putain!”_

~

The Doctor felt like his heart broke into a million pieces when the TARDIS whooshed out of existence. “He did it,” he said numbly. “He really did it. I never thought – I - ”

“He’s gone to save us all,” said Gwen. “He hasn’t betrayed us, he’s _saving_ us.”

Jack gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, he’d _love_ you to think that, wouldn’t he?”

Gwen rounded on him angrily. “It’s true and you know it, Jack Harkness.”

“He’s preventing a second Ash Plague,” said the Doctor quietly. “He didn’t think we’d trust him, so he just went.”

“And that means he hasn’t got anyone to be his back-up, if he ends up in a tight spot,” said Gwen.

“So we get the Jeeps, and go.”

“We have no weapons!” said Jack angrily.

The Doctor turned, and smiled. “Oh, did you really think I wouldn’t have another Huon particle ray, for emergencies?”

Jack lit up. “Good on you, Doc! Where is it?”

The Doctor paused, then gave a sheepish smile. “Uh… the TARDIS.”

Jack groaned. “For fuck’s _sake.”_

“It was the only place safe enough!”

“Well it clearly _wasn’t_ safe enough, was it”

“For - ” The Doctor cut himself off as he heard the sound of the TARDIS dematerialising, and the Master stepped out, slightly frazzled-looking, with an awkward smile on his face. “Hello again.”

“You!” snarled Jack, and Gwen and the Doctor both grabbed each of his arms to prevent him from launching himself at the Master.

“Before anyone attacks me,” said the Master, raising his hands, “I just thought I’d mention that I’ve saved the world.” He grinned, and Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Ianto looked up from his computer screen. “Um… guys?”

“Not now, Ianto,” snapped Jack.

“It’s important!” insisted Ianto. “There’s been another report of the – the Colour. In Paris.” He looked apologetically at the Master. “Looks like you haven’t saved the world yet.”

~

 “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy,” said the Master grimly when he and the Doctor had retreated into the TARDIS to plan. “It never is.”

“Especially when the Old Ones are involved,” said the Doctor.

“But – who would be insane enough to use Old One technology? Not even _I_ went that far!”

The Doctor shot him a wry look. “The Nestene Consciousness ringing any bells?”

The Master rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, the Nestene wasn’t an _Old One._ They just happened to… exist at the same time, that’s all.”

“That’s absolute bullshit, and you know it,” said the Doctor.

“Seriously though,” said the Master, “Who could be behind this?”

“Someone who wants to destroy the Earth utterly,” said the Doctor quietly. “Perhaps the question we should be asking is not who, but _why.”_

“Vengeance?” suggested the Master. “Countless species have been thwarted in their attempts to invade this planet.”

“But why use the Colour?”

The Master swallowed. “Perhaps it’s the Old Ones themselves.”

The Doctor blanched. “No. No, that’s impossible.”

“You revel in the impossible, Theta.”

The Doctor clicked his tongue irritably. “Touche.” He flicked a few switches on the TARDIS console. “So. Paris.”

The Master gave a wry smirk. “Considered the most romantic city on Earth, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Maybe we can visit properly after this is all over.”

“If it hasn’t been destroyed.”

“Always a ray of goddamn sunshine, aren’t you?”

The Master smirked. “Oh, yes.” He went to give the Doctor a peck on the lips, but the Doctor grabbed for him, hand twining in his straw-blond hair, pulling him closer, kiss deepening.

The Master pulled away, gasping, lips parted.  “Th-Theta – not now, we need to – to save the world - ”

“We’re in a time machine,” said the Doctor, mouthing at his throat. “The world can wait for a few more minutes.”

~

“It’s not an annihilation,” said the Master, eyes widening with sudden realisation. “It’s a harvest. Destruction is only a side-effect.”

The Doctor stilled. “What?”

“Think about it. There are far easier ways to destroy a planet than to use the Colour, and besides, the piece Torchwood found was completely spherical, like it had been… manufactured. Not like the one that landed on Gallifrey, which was just as irregular as a normal meteorite. Whoever is responsible for this is using the Colour to create more of it, as a weapon.”

“That’s brilliant,” breathed the Doctor. “You’re absolutely brilliant.”

 _Well, it takes a supervillain to think like a supervillain._ “I know,” grinned the Master.

The Doctor swallowed. “But now they know we have the technology to counter them. They probably chose Earth because of their primitiveness, but…”

“Doesn’t that mean they might just leave Earth alone?” said the Master without much hope.

“No. The incident in Paris shows that they’re escalating, not rolling back. They’re trying to spread faster than we can destroy them.”

The Master went to the control screen, typing in Linear Gallifreyan. “Doing a scan for ships,” he murmured. “It would make sense for them to be in-flight, although if they were grounded it would make them harder to spot. But since they’ve escalated, they may have fled back to the stratosphere, or may just be in a very secluded place…”

“Tell you what,” said the Doctor, rummaging in a drawer, “I know exactly what we need.” He brandished a machine that looked vaguely like it had been made out of kitchen implements. Gallifreyan kitchen implements, granted, but kitchen implements all the same. “This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there’s stuff.”

The Master squinted at it. “What is it?”

“It detects things, I told you. Invented it myself. Haven’t quite found a proper name for it yet.”

“I quite like ‘timey-wimey detector’. Very… Theta.”         

~

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to find the ship, leading the Master to grudgingly admit that the Doctor wasn’t completely hopeless when it came to technology. Gwen, Jack and Ianto stayed behind in the TARDIS as the Time Lords stepped out to speak to whoever was inside that ship, with the Doctor brimming with a fury the Master hadn’t seen the like of in centuries. He marched straight up to the door, pressed the intercom – the Master couldn’t help thinking what the hell kind of spaceship had an intercom like a block of bloody flats – and began to speak. 


	11. eleven: halfway out of the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early update this week because i'm going back to uni in a couple of days so things are gonna get craaaaazy 
> 
> chapter title is from s5e14: a christmas carol. a.k.a. one of the only moffat episodes i actually loved

“We will destroy you.” The Doctor’s eyes gleamed, nearly a millennium-worth of time energy burning in his irises. “We will destroy you by any means possible. I am the Doctor, and I am the protector of the universe. We are not just the last of the Time Lords. We are _the Time Lords Victorious.”_

“No,” said the Master simply, and the Doctor spun around to face him, eyes bulging. “Doctor, we can’t. We _can’t.”_

“If we don’t destroy the Earth, the entire universe will perish!”

“Doctor - ”

“This planet will perish anyway! The only question is whether the rest of the universe is to follow it!”

The Master’s jaw set. “ _No.”_ He stepped forward, taking the Doctor’s hand in his. “You think you’re alright, Doctor. You thought that Rose pulled you from the brink of insanity, and whereas she may have stopped you from losing yourself, she certainly didn’t manage to pull you entirely into the light. No one can stem the flow of insanity, and the thing that makes you dangerous is that you think you’re _fine._ I’m searching for another way, Doctor, and that is that.” With those parting words, he launched himself towards the TARDIS and slammed the door behind him.

“I really wish you’d stop doing that!” yelled the Doctor.

~

As soon as the Master shut the door, there came a tirade of knocking from outside and a chorus of voices from inside the TARDIS. “You’re going to have to trust me,” said the Master, heading for the controls. “You heard what the Doctor said, I assume. We need to stop him.”

Jack looked as though he was about to say something, but Gwen cut him off. “What’s the plan?”

“That machine that can heal a planet. It’s the only thing that has the capacity to send energy all across the globe. If I code it correctly, I could make every particle of the Colour change into something harmless.”

“Why didn’t the Doctor think of that?”

“He’s terrified. The Colour is one of the only things that can terrify a Time Lord, and fear clouds his mind. It always has. You may not think so, because he’s been scared before – but he hasn’t. Not like this.” The Master swallowed. “I told you that it came to Gallifrey. What I didn’t tell you is that Gallifrey was the last planet it came to in Kasterborous. The Doctor and I have seen this thing devour entire galaxies, whole star systems. If someone is weaponising the Colour, the whole universe will be destroyed.”

“Can’t we just tell him the plan?” said Jack. “He could help us!”

“No. He’d say it’s impossible.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And is it?”

“Yes.” The Master grinned. “For anyone other than me.”

~

The machine had been lying dormant since that final battle with Rassilon, which was barely less than two weeks ago but felt like two centuries.

“But the Doctor’s still with the ship! The ship that belongs to the people trying to destroy the Earth!” shouted Jack as the Master sat in front of the computer, typing rapidly. There was a noise not unlike the sound of the TARDIS materialising as he rebooted the machine.

“I’d never put the Doctor in danger,” said the Master curtly. “I’ll return within one second of us leaving, from his vantage point. I don’t think that even _he_ could manage to get into trouble in that short a length of time.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” muttered Jack. “But – one second. That’s a very small window. Are you sure you can manage it? The Doctor once tried to take Rose back after twelve hours and ended up making it twelve _months!”_

“Yes, well I, unlike the Doctor, can actually _fly_ the TARDIS.”

“Is there anything we can do?” said Gwen. “I feel a bit useless, just standing here.”

“To be honest,” said the Master, not looking away from the screen as he typed, “no.”

~

“I still think we should have told the Doctor.”

“Are you going to keep saying that every five minutes?” snapped the Master.

“Yes,” Jack retorted.

“Well, you can stop now, because I’ve finished. As the Doctor likes to say – _Allons-y!_ Ooh, look, it’s a big red button. I do like a big red button.” He pressed it, and everyone held their breath.

The tiny sample of the Colour that the Master had brought with him to code the machine disappeared. Or rather, it seemed to disappear, but it actually was converted into a whiff of nitrogen and oxygen.

“Well?” demanded Jack immediately. “Does that mean it worked?”

“Yes,” said the Master, eyes sparkling. “Yes, I rather think it did.” He bounced towards the TARDIS. “Well, come on then! We’ve got an enemy ship to explode!”

“You could have just evaporated their ship as well.”

“Fuck sake, Jack, the Colour is only made of one type of particle. That ship is made from thousands, probably. I might be a genius, but I’m not _that_ good.”

“Whatever, _Longbarrow.”_

“Don’t call - ” The Master caught his smirk, and scowled.

~

As soon as the TARDIS dematerialised, it rematerialised so quickly the Doctor didn’t even have time to be angry about it. The Master burst out, grinning wildly.

“That _control!”_ he said, spinning. “Ooh, aren’t you jealous, Doctor?”

“How long have you been gone, from your end?”

“About an hour and a half. I used the planety machine. Remember the planety machine? Turned all particles of the Colour into air. You’re welcome.”

“But that’s impossible!”

“Yes, I rather thought you’d say that, which is why we left you behind. Sorry about that.”

“What’s that scarf?” said the Doctor abruptly. “You’re never cold.”

“I considered a tie, but that’s far too formal for me. Ties. Who needs them? I thought a scarf would be better. You like scarves, don’t you? At least your fourth incarnation did… well, I just saw it, and thought it was perfect. See? TARDIS blue. It was like fate. Oh - ” He unravelled the scarf once, so it was still looped around his neck but with a longer part dangling from it. He held it out.

“Do you really have to ask?” said the Doctor, smiling, as he took the end and wrapped it once around his own neck.

“Well, it _is_ customary to ask.”

“You already asked.”

“Yes, but that was eight hundred years ago, I just thought I’d check.”

“Look,” said Jack impatiently, “I don’t know what sort of weird Gallifreyan shit you two are doing, but there is an enemy ship _right there!”_

“Oh yeah,” said the Master, pulling out his laser screwdriver from his pocket and pointing it at the ship. “Not for much longer. Run!”

“I hate you!” yelled the Doctor as the Master pulled him forward by the scarf, the five of them bundling into the TARDIS and the Master pirouetting around the controls and setting coordinates. “I really hate you!”

“That’s why you said yes, then?”

“Yes!” shouted the Doctor over the whooshing of the TARDIS engines.

The Master unwrapped the scarf from the Doctor’s neck. “So. Who’s the Speaker?”

“Me!” said Urania, console lights flashing excitedly. “I’ve known you both the longest, make it me!”

“What the hell,” said Jack faintly, “since when could your TARDIS talk?”

“Since quite recently, actually. Long story. Um, can the three of you just… step out, for a moment?”

The humans exchanged baffled glances. “Sure,” said Gwen slowly. “Where did you land us, Master?”

“Cardiff,” he replied. “Just outside Torchwood headquarters. Now, chop chop!”

“Why now?” said the Doctor as the TARDIS door shut behind the humans.

“Well,” said the Master, suddenly coming over all bashful, “I told you, I saw the scarf, and it just seemed… right?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life, Theta,” said the Master softly. “Are _you_ sure?”

“Oh yes,” said the Doctor. “You should know by now that I never say yes or no if I’m not _sure.”_

“Then – shall we begin?” The Master took the scarf from around his neck, wrapped it once around his left hand, and threw the Doctor the other end.

The Doctor looked at him askance. “You’re supposed to tie it yourself.”

“Ooh,” said the Master gleefully, “never thought you’d be such an old-fashioned romantic, Theta.”

“Shut up and tie!”

“Look at you both, acting like an old married couple already,” said Urania, and they both laughed. The Master took the Doctor’s right hand gently, wrapping the other end of the scarf around it twice.

“So, who’s marrying into whose house?” said the Master.

“Since we were both disowned, we should create our own house. How about… Lungdown?”

“Atrocious,” said the Doctor. “How about Oakbarrow?”

“Yeah, I like that.”

They stepped closer together until their noses were mere inches from each other. “Begin, Urania.”

“Thetasigmaterpholixatelios Lungbarrow and Koschei Oakdown, do you hereby willingly take each other as lawful wedded husbands?”

Both their hands tightened around the scarf at the same time. “I do,” they said in unison, and grinned at each other wildly.

“You know,” said Urania conversationally, “although most Gallifreyan couples try to say the ‘I do’ at the same time, only forty five percent actually manage it?”

“Fascinating,” drawled the Master. “Are you going to say we can kiss yet?”

If Urania had eyes, he was sure she would have rolled them. “Yes, yes, husbands, you may kiss.”

Not many kisses with the Master were chaste, but this one was; reminiscent of the first time they’d kissed in centuries just after Gallifrey had been forced back into its time lock, while they were surrounded by broken glass and blood.

“I love you,” said the Doctor when they pulled apart.

“I love you, too.” The Master unwound the scarf from each of their hands, and draped it around the Doctor’s neck.

“What about the - ” The Doctor cut himself off as a drawer popped out of the TARDIS console. “Where did you get those?” he said, incredulous.

To his astonishment, a flush bloomed over the Master’s face. “I – well, when we first got engaged, I got these, and put them here for safe-keeping.” He looked up at the ceiling, raising an eyebrow; for some reason, when addressing Urania he felt compelled to look at the ceiling, even though he could have looked at any part of the TARDIS. “I can’t believe you kept them.”

“I keep everything,” said Urania mildly. “Besides, I knew they would be needed eventually. Timeship, remember?”

“Well, thank you. I’m glad. We wouldn’t have been able to get genuine Gallifreyan wedding rings otherwise.” The Master picked the rings up, hearts jolting at the sight of the tiny white-point star embedded in each one. The Doctor took his hand, knowing what he was thinking of.

“Don’t associate it with Rassilon,” he said gently. “Associate it with _us.”_

“Yes,” said the Master faintly, and slid the Doctor’s ring onto his right middle finger. It bore the Master’s birth name, whereas the Master would wear the ring that bore the Doctor’s. It was written in Linear rather than Circular Gallifreyan, as was the custom, and the Master remembered the look of irritation on the jeweller’s face when he’d slid over the piece of paper that had the Doctor’s name written down.

“You can barely read it, it’s so small,” the Master laughed, squinting at his ring. “You and your ridiculous name.”

“Bet you still can’t pronounce it.”

“Of course I can!” said the Master indignantly. “It’s Thetasigma… Thetasigmaterpholis… no, pholixan – Thetasigmaphiler – _ARGH!”_  

“Really, how hard is Thetasigmaterpholixatelios to say? Especially since half of Gallifrey has names like that!”

“It _is_ hard!” insisted the Master.

The Doctor smirked, then said, “Eight hundred and forty two years. Do you think we’ve set the record for the longest engagement in history?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy the next chapter, which is just 4 pages of jack harkness screaming in horror
> 
> (joking)
> 
> (or am i)


	12. twelve: our childhood, our home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chap title from the soundtrack song "this is gallifrey: our childhood, our home"

The Doctor opened the doors to find Gwen, Ianto and Jack sitting on a nearby bench. The place they were in was undoubtedly Cardiff, but appeared to be at the other end of the city to the Torchwood headquarters. Jack jumped up as soon as he heard the TARDIS door opening, and said, “Well? Are you going to explain what all that was about?”

“Hey,” said the Master, hopping out of the TARDIS exuberantly. “Reckon we should put a ‘Just Married’ banner on the TARDIS? That’s one of those ridiculous human customs, isn’t it?”

“Tell me he’s joking,” said Jack flatly. “Tell me you did _not_ just get married.”

The Doctor smiled. “I’m afraid we did.”

The Master came to stand beside him, wiggling his ring finger. The white-point star made tiny prisms of rainbows glance off the Master’s cheek.

“That’s the wrong finger.”

“It’s the right finger, you philistine. It’s you humans who have got it wrong.”

“But – _married?”_ Jack said it as though he’d never heard the word before.

“Well, we had been engaged for over eight hundred years, we thought it was getting a bit ridiculous,” said the Doctor.

“ _Engaged?”_ Jack spluttered. “Doc, you are aware that he’s a genocidal maniac, aren’t you?”

“Technically, the only one out of us who has committed genocide is me.”

“Oh for _God’s_ sake - ”

The Master popped open a bottle of champagne, the cork narrowly missing Jack’s head. “Toast to the happy couple?”

“Where’s the glasses?” said Gwen.

“Glasses,” scoffed the Master. “Who needs those?” He took a hearty gulp from the bottle, then said, “Hey, you know how the best man is supposed to tell an embarrassing story about the groom?”

“Is he?” said the Doctor, looking apprehensive.

“Yes. Well, since we don’t have one, I thought I’d take over the duty.”

“Oh _no -”_

“Four words.” The Master was grinning like a maniac. “Gallifrey.” He watched the Doctor’s brows draw together in confusion. “Academy.” The Master savoured the next pause, then said, “Hot.”

Sudden realisation crossed the Doctor’s face, and he lunged for him. “No, _no, don’t you dare!”_

The Master danced out of his way, laughing uproariously. “ _Gallifrey Academy Hot Five!”_

“Fuck off! You are _divorced!”_

“Did he tell you about that?”  The Master turned to the Torchwood team. “Did he tell you he was in a band called the Gallifrey Academy Hot Five?”

Jack began to laugh so hard his knees actually started to buckle, and he ran for the safety of the bench. “No way! The _Hot Five?_ Really, Doctor?”

“I didn’t make up the name!” he said, annoyed. “And the Master was in it too!”

“Yeah, but I played an _actual instrument!”_

“The perigosto stick _is_ an instrument!”

The Master screamed with laughter, taking another drink of champagne in between his howls, and the Doctor scowled at him.

“What did you play, Longbarrow?” said Ianto.

The Master’s smile fell slightly. “Drums.” He suddenly grinned. “Big surprise, eh?”

“Every single fucking song we did had that _one two three four_ ,” spluttered the Doctor. “It was terrible, we had to fire him.”

“I wasn’t fired, I _resigned.”_ Now it was the Master’s turn to look petulant. “And I resigned because Drax was a shit singer!”

“You keep telling yourself that, my love.”

“He has a thing for drummers,” said the Master to Gwen. “That’s when he realised he was wildly attracted to me, you know.”

The Doctor snatched the bottle of champagne from him. “I’m going to need that if you keep up this reminiscing.”

“I became a drummer because I thought creating my own drumming would drown it out,” said the Master wistfully. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

The Doctor went to his side, taking his hand. “They’ve gone now.”

The Master smiled at him. “Yes. Yes, they have.” He turned to the other three, and stage-whispered, “It _was_ him who came up with the name Hot Five.”

“Oi!”

~

Peace was a luxury for the Master, something he had not experienced for centuries upon centuries. He often had bouts of melancholy, wondering how things would have panned out of Rassilon hadn’t infected him with the drumming, if the Master hadn’t been so bloody-minded. Whenever he faked a smile, the Doctor always saw through.

Centuries. They had wasted centuries.

But then – centuries were barely more than a blink of an eye for a Time Lord.

_Do not waste time on the past. Focus on the present, and on that shining, fragile future._

Neither of them spoke about it, but both of them knew that Gallifrey would not stay contained forever. If anyone could work out how to escape from a time lock, it would be a planet full of Time Lords.

But the lock gave them time. Time to prepare, and plan.

The Master leaned his head on the Doctor’s shoulders, and the Doctor’s arm automatically wrapped around his waist. “You okay, Koschei?”

“Of course. I’m with you.”

The Ood were right. The Doctor’s song had, indeed, ended.

But a veritable symphony had taken its place.

“It’s time,” said Urania unexpectedly. “Come to the door.”

Neither of them had to ask which one. Hand in hand, they wordlessly walked through the corridors towards the ever-locked door. There was a soft clicking nose, and the door swung open infintessimally, allowing a tiny sliver of golden light to spill out. It had that specific cast of gold that came from processed artron energy, and they gave each other a surprised look before the Master slowly reached out and pushed the door open. 

“ _Oh,_ ” breathed the Master. “Theta…”

It was a tiny room, most of the space taken up by two cylindrical chambers that reached almost to the ceiling. There was just enough space for both of them to squeeze inside next to them. The walls were almost completely lined with vials made of frosted glass, that seemed to hold a dark red liquid.

“Are those…” began the Master, hardly daring to hope,

“Yes, I think they are.” The Doctor’s hand tightened on his. “But why?”

“Emergencies, of course,” said Urania.

“No, I mean, why now? Why did you unlock it now?”

“Before the Time War, we didn’t need it. Immediately after the Time War, you were far too traumatised; I predicted many different courses of action, most of which were unsavoury. You may have destroyed them, terrified to bring any more Time Lords into being after seeing the evil that lurked in the heart of Gallifrey. You may have gone wild and created a million children to atone for your perceived crimes. In any case, you certainly weren’t ready for fatherhood.”

The Doctor stared at the pair of Looms for a moment.

“And,” added Urania, “I was waiting for Koschei.”

“How did you know I’d come back?”

“First of all, I’m a timeship. Second of all, because I knew you still loved each other, and that at your heart, you are still beautiful, wonderstruck Koschei Oakdown, not the Master.”

Seeing the Master’s stricken expression, the Doctor kissed him softly on his tear-tracked face.

“A new Gallifrey,” whispered the Master. “Those vials – they contain the blood of different Time Lords, don’t they? There’s a hundred and sixty, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” said Urania.

“One hundred and sixty?” repeated the Doctor, baffled. “Why – oh!” His eyes widened. “The minimum viable population!”

“Yes.”

“We can’t do that,” said the Master quickly.

“No,” agreed the Doctor at once. “No New Gallifrey. But we could – I mean, if you wanted to – we could feed both of our DNA into a Loom, and…”

“Theta, are you asking if I want a child?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “We’ve barely been married two hours.”

The Doctor elbowed him lightly. “I didn’t mean right now, obviously, I just mean… at some point? Maybe?”

The Master had never seen him look so flustered in quite a while. “Yeah,” said the Master gently. “Yeah, maybe.”

The smile on the Doctor’s face shone even brighter than the artron energy that surrounded them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just a soppy git


	13. thirteen: songs of freedom and gratitude

“So,” said the Doctor, grinning. “My dear Master, you have the entirety of time and space before you. Where would you like to start?”

The Master was absently drumming a rhythm on the side of the console. The Doctor watched hawkishly, and visibly relaxed when he realised it was just an old Gallifreyan nursery rhyme. “I’ll let Urania choose. She never gets to choose.”

Urania hummed happily. “I knew there was a reason you were always my favourite.”

“Oi!” exclaimed the Doctor, affronted.

“You can’t blame her,” shrugged the Master. “Vehicles do tend to prefer people who can actually drive them.”

“Do you want me to jettison you from the escape hatch?” said the Doctor irritably, and the Master laughed uproariously.

The humans were currently in the kitchen, with Jack and Ianto no doubt trying to convince Gwen that the Master was the devil incarnate. The Master would rather have a holiday on Skaro than have Jack travelling with them, but when the Master had asked Gwen to travel with them, Jack had refused to let her go by herself, and then Ianto had refused to get Jack go without him. Gwen had protested at first, saying – quite rightly – that she could take care of herself, but then Ianto pointed out that she’d end up being a third wheel otherwise. Gwen had looked between Jack and Ianto, and muttered, “I feel like I will in either case.”

Ianto was so obviously in love with Jack, and Jack was so obviously oblivious, that it was almost physically painful for the Master to watch, but the Doctor just seemed mildly amused by them. “Well, as long as they don’t pine for as long as we did,” muttered the Master, and the Doctor smirked.

“You shouldn’t have let Urania choose, you know. She’s obsessed with tragedies.”

“Like ship, like pilot,” said the Master wryly.

“Don’t worry,” said Urania brightly. “I’ll pick somewhere nice.”

“Why does that not reassure me?” said the Doctor.

The Master was looking in the direction of the roundels, eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s something weird going on,” he murmured.

Jack snorted. “Of course there’s something weird going on, nothing’s ever simple with you Time Lords.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from an immortal alien from the fifty-first century!”

“Yeah, all of which came about because of my acquaintance with you bloody Time Lords!”

“Oh, can you two stop arguing for more than three milliseconds?” said the Doctor, exasperated.

“Don’t you feel it?” The Master grabbed his arm. “The storm? The oncoming storm?”

The Doctor shivered. “Wh-what? Why do you say that?”

“I just feel it,” whispered the Master. With anyone else, the Doctor would have dismissed it out of hand, or at least asked some questions to ascertain their psychic ability. But the Master was one of the most psychically talented people he knew; even on Gallifrey when nearly everyone had a reasonable amount of psychic talent, he had been considered extraordinary.

The Doctor took his hand. “Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

“Theta,” whispered the Master, “I really don’t think it is.”

Jack sighed. “Let’s lighten the mood, shall we? Urania, play ABBA.”

“She is a TARDIS, not Alexa!” said the Master indignantly.

“I don’t mind,” chirped Urania. “Dancing Queen, coming up!”

“Please don’t,” said the Master. “I can’t stand ABBA.”

“See!” yelled Jack, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Proof that he’s a psychopath!”

“Well, _that’s_ not exactly news, is it?” said the Master.

“I swear,” muttered the Doctor to Gwen, “I am going to eject both of them out of this ship if they don’t stop bloody arguing.”

“You wouldn’t throw your husband into deep space, would you?” said the Master, batting his eyelashes at him.

“Try me.”

Ianto coughed slightly. “So, since us five are like a team now - ”

“Are we?” said Jack and the Master in unison, and then glared at each other.

“Yes,” said Ianto emphatically. “I think we should give ourselves a name. Like, a shorthand name to refer to ourselves as, instead of ‘The Doctor, The Master, Gwen, Ianto and Jack.’”

“We are aware of the concept of group names, yes,” said the Master.

“So I think we should call ourselves the _…_ uh. TARDIS Team?”

“Or,” said the Master with a savage grin, “the TARDIS Hot Five.”

“That’s it,” said the Doctor, “out the airlock you go.” He glanced at Jack, who was laughing hysterically. “Do you two only ever agree on something when you’re ganging up on me?”

“Yes,” said Jack and the Master at the same time. The Master offered a smile, and Jack returned it, albeit a little grudgingly.

The Master trotted up to the Doctor, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t be mad, darling. I got you a present.” He pulled out a bow tie from his pocket. “Got it made especially. I know you’d be embarrassed to wear it on Gallifrey, but since us and a couple of weird scholars from an obscure part of the universe are the only people who can read it…”

The Doctor picked it up. It was royal blue, with a phrase printed on it in gold in Circular Gallifreyan, which looked like an abstract pattern to the untrained eye. He beamed at it, sliding it under his collar and tying it. “You soppy old thing. I love it. I love _you._ ” He turned to him, and kissed him.

Behind them, Jack was miming gagging noises, which abruptly stopped when Ianto hit him on the arm.

“What does it say?” said Gwen.

“Love of my life,” said the Doctor, who couldn’t stop smiling.

Jack’s miming resumed.

“Shut up,” snapped Ianto at him. “You’re just jealous because you can only get one night stands.”

Dead silence fell.

The Master made a _yikes_ face at the Doctor, and Gwen eyed Ianto and Jack in much the same she would eye Osama Bin Laden if he suddenly came strolling into Heathrow Airport.

Jack stared at Ianto for a moment, then walked out the door at the back of the console room, slamming it shut behind him.

“We’ve arrived, by the way,” said Urania in a small voice.

~

They walked out into a land of snow and ice as a couple of snowflakes fell leisurely from the sky. Gwen and the Doctor had managed to convinced Jack to come out of the bedroom he was sulking in, but stayed as far away from Ianto as possible.

The Doctor was still standing in the doorway. “The Ood Sphere?”

“Yes,” said Urania. “Koschei wanted to go, he was curious. They’re the only species that have an external hindbrain.”

“But I asked you what _you_ want,” said the Master, looking back.

“I want to make you happy,” was Urania’s response, and the Master beamed.

Gwen and Ianto had been mentally preparing themselves, determined not to act like a regular, naïve human. But working with alien tech was one thing, and one’s feet landing on alien soil was something altogether different.

The humans shivered against the cold, except from Jack, who didn’t appear to be able to feel anything except from resentment at the moment.

The Ood Sphere was a forbidding landscape of sharp, icy angles and snowdrifts tens of metres high. It was astonishing that such a habitat had managed to breed any life at all, let alone sapient life as unique as Oodkind. But if there was one thing the Doctor had learned in his centuries of travelling, it was that life was tenacious, and could bloom even in the most unlikely of environments.

The Ood were identical to the human eye, but their time energy imprint differentiated them to a Time Lord, so the Master wasn’t surprised when the Doctor greeted the approaching Ood with a cheerful “Hello, Ood Sigma! Meet the TARDIS Team, Jack, Ianto, Gwen and - ”

“Pierre,” said the Master, causing the Doctor to blink at him in surprise. “ _I can’t ask them to call me Master, not after what they’ve been through.”_ Their telepathy was becoming almost as easy as talking out loud now, which took the Doctor by surprise because he’d never been good at that sort of thing without establishing a physical link, although they did say that the closer a relationship you had to a person, the easier it was…

The Doctor smiled broadly at him. “ _Indeed.”_ He turned back to Ood Sigma. “I’m here to show my friends this wonderful planet. Do you have any recommendations of where we should go?”

Ood Sigma’s tentacles twitched in a way that the Master thought signified amusement. Rassilon, but he hated talking to people without a visible mouth. “Come and see the Ood Brain,” he said. “It’s quite a sight to behold, and the elders sing their song around this time.”

“The Song of Freedom,” murmured the Doctor, and Ood Sigma inclined his head.

“Yes. We sing it at high noon, in celebration and remembrance.” The Ood blinked slowly. “And we sing the song of the DoctorDonna, our allies.”

There was a shining veil of tears over the Doctor’s eyes. “You know you don’t have to - ”

“No,” interrupted Ood Sigma, “but we want to. Oodkind honour those who honour us. That is our way.”

“Thank you,” said the Doctor sincerely. “It really is a great honour, old friend.”

And it was true; the Doctor wasn’t used to gratitude, and it made him giddy.

 

 


	14. fourteen: the woods are lovely, and dark, and deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> predictably, the doctor and the master's honeymoon is wrecked by aliens. can't they ever catch a goddamn break?

After they had left the Ood and gone back into the TARDIS, the Doctor said, “So, where do you want to have our honeymoon?”

The Master scoffed. “Honeymoons are a stupid human invention.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “So where do you want to go?”

The Master grinned. “Let’s start with… Llanelli. If that’s even a real place.”

The Doctor laughed.

~

They dropped Jack, Ianto and Gwen back off at the Torchwood headquarters, and the Doctor went in with them to chat to Martha. The Master stayed in the TARDIS, supposing that he was the last person in the universe that Martha wanted to see. Jack and Ianto still weren’t speaking to each other; Ianto had attempted to apologise, only to be met with a rebuff.

“Do you really want to go to Llanelli for your honeymoon?” said Urania.

“I want a honeymoon _tour,_ darling, and why not start with Llanelli? Nice, quiet place in Wales, what could possibly go wrong?”

“Oh, nice one, Koschei! Don’t you know that’s the worst thing possible to say? Now you’ve guaranteed that something’s going to go wrong.”

She was, of course, right.

It was very hard for a timeship not to be.

~

“Everyone alright?” said the Master when the Doctor returned a few minutes later.

“Yep,” said the Doctor. “I mean, Jack and Ianto still aren’t speaking, but Tosh assures me they’ll get over it pretty quickly. Apparently, they ‘always do.’” He shook his head. “Humans. Always so much drama.”

The Master laughed. “Theta, you _know_ Time Lords are the most melodramatic race in the entire universe.” He coughed. “Um, were.” Seeing the Doctor’s face, the Master said, “Oh come _on._ Just look at our formal robes. The only possible reason to have something like that is pure melodrama.” He went to give the Doctor a kiss on the cheek, but he turned his head so the kiss landed on his lips. The Master smiled.

“So – Llanelli?” said the Doctor.

The Master beamed. “Absolutely.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows rose. “So you weren’t joking?”

“I never joke,” said the Master with a wink.

~

The National Botanic Garden of Wales wasn’t as impressive as the TARDIS’s Mostly Botanical Gardens, but then again, very little was. “It’s nice,” said the Master. “For Earth, anyway.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Why did you even suggest going somewhere on Earth if you’re just going to make sarky comments the whole time?”

“Because that’s half the fun!”

“Uh, Koschei…” His voice was a few octaves higher than usual, staring at a strange little plant hidden in a bed spilling over with Caribbean orchids. “That looks suspiciously like - ”

“Rakweed,” breathed the Master. There was a tense second of silence, and then the Master pulled a lighter out of his pocket.

“No, no!” yelled the Doctor, grabbing his hand. “Fire makes it mature faster!”

“Oh, yeah. Shit.” He dropped the lighter back in his pocket. “So how _do_ you kill them?”

“Uh…” The Doctor bit his lip. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“Oh great, mega-useful, thanks.” The Master hesitated. “What does rakweed do, again?”

The Doctor  frowned. “I don’t know, but I know it’s bad… Shit, Master, this is _bad._ Psychic field making people forget everything they know about makweed – _rakweed!_ But what’s its range? Is it targeting us specifically, does someone know we’re here, or is it more general? The county, the country, the _world?”_

“We’d better get back to the TARDIS,” said the Master, voice slightly faint.

“Psychic fields don’t work on me,” hissed the Master as soon as they were back in the TARDIS. “They just don’t! They haven’t since I was a kid, since I was fifty! What the fuck – _who_ the fuck – could do this?”

The Doctor looked amused. “You’re more bothered about the fact that a psychic field worked on you than you are about the rakweed, aren’t you?”

“Well, aren’t _you?”_ said the Master indignantly. “That must be one hell of a psychic field! What could possibly be behind it?”

“I suppose, but the rakweed is more of a concern – I mean, it could – it could – oh fuck.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” said the Master, clapping him on the shoulder, “if there’s anyone who can dismantle a psychic field, it’s the last two Time Lords left in the universe.”

“Yes, that’s what you’d have _thought,”_ the Doctor muttered under his breath. He went to the console, typing rapidly.

“Radar? It won’t work,” said the Master.

“I may as well try,” said the Doctor through gritted teeth. “Sometimes, geniuses are so focused on finding the incredibly clever big picture, that sometimes they forgot there isn’t one. Sometimes, just sometimes, the solution is simpler than we ever imagined, and even if it isn’t… it never hurts to try.”

“Whatever,” said the Master, attempting to put on a scornful tone but not being able to disguise his underlying affection. He cocked his head slightly. “So? Is it working?”

“No,” said the Doctor cheerfully, “but like I said, it was worth a go.”

The Master pulled something out of his pocket, and threw it to him. “You’re going to have to limit the search to Earth, look for the highest concentration.”

The Doctor stared at the sample of rakweed in his hand. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” The Master suddenly threw himself backwards into thin air, and Urania conjured up a chaise longue made of royal purple velvet. The Master landed on it and swung his legs onto it, propping himself up on his elbow in a series of seamless moves.  The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“And _you’re_ a melodramatic little fucker.”

“I know. Always have been. That’s why you love me.”

The Doctor looked at him stretching languidly out on the chaise longue. “You look like a panther. Or should I say… a cheetah?”

“A low blow,” tutted the Master. “A _very_ low blow. You’re just jealous that Urania doesn’t like you enough to conjure pieces of furniture – sexy, sexy pieces of furniture – out of nowhere for you.”

“It isn’t out of _nowhere,”_ snapped the Doctor, “that’s from Library Q. Now the décor is all out of sync.”

“Worth it,” said the Master, reclining.

“Are you going to help, or are you just going to lie there like a useless motherfucker?”

“You don’t need any help,” said the Master with an airy hand-wave. “You have everything in hand, I’m sure.”

“Cheers,” muttered the Doctor. “Much appreciated. Ah! Here we are, look! Forest of Dean. That must be where they are, that’s where the biggest concentration of rakweed… both mature, immature, and spores.”

“Great!” said the Master, launching himself off the chaise longue. “Let’s go! _Allons-y!”_

A few moments later, they stepped out of the TARDIS into the mild September air, the sound of starlings and sparrows echoing among the canopies of the trees.

“Didn’t land it straight outside the headquarters, then? Figures. That would be too easy.”

“Oi,” said the Doctor irritably. “It would have been practically impossible to land in the _precise_ location - ”

“Impossible for you, maybe.”

“Stop being irritating and help me, will you?”

But before either of them could do anything else, a girl crashed through the trees.

She was wearing a tattered and filthy white dress, had long blonde hair that looked as though it had been dragged through not just one hedgerow but a veritable field of them, and looked around fifteen or sixteen years old. The three of them froze, but it was she who recovered first, taking back off the way she’d come at a speed the Doctor had not been expecting.

“Wait!” shouted the Doctor reflexively. “Wait! We can help you!”

The girl stopped, rocked back and forth on her heels a few times as though considering running again, but then turned back to face them.

Not wanting to step towards her in case he spooked her, the Doctor said in a soft voice that nevertheless carried clearly across to her, “What’s your name?”

“Ophelia.” Her voice was so quiet, a human’s ears probably would not have picked it up.

“Hello, Ophelia. I’m the Doctor, and this is – Pierre.”

Ophelia continued to regard them suspiciously. “I can’t talk to you,” she said, her voice high and panicked.

“You’re obviously running from someone, and we – we can keep you safe.”

But Ophelia shook her head so vehemently it looked almost painful. “No, D – Doctor. I’m dangerous.” And before either of them could say anything, she spun and fled, again with a speed that astonished them.

“Well,” said the Master.

“Well,” agreed the Doctor.

“Was she important?”

“Everyone’s important,” said the Doctor vaguely.

The Master gave him a look. “You know what I mean. Is she related to this whole rakweed business?”

“No idea. Hell of a coincidence if it isn’t, but you know what being a Time Lord is like – an endless series of coincidences, but never meaning what you initially think it does.” He continued to stare at the spot where Ophelia had vanished, and the Master gently laid a hand on his arm.

“She’ll be alright,” said the Master.

“I hope so.”

“Ophelia.” The Master rolled the word around his mouth. “Where have I heard that name before?”

“Shakespeare?” suggested the Doctor, and received a scathing look. “It’s not a particularly uncommon name, particularly during the Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire, although I don’t know if you spent much time there. Experienced somewhat of a resurgence after a particularly popular performance of Hamlet.”

“Fascinating,” said the Master dryly.

“You probably don’t know her,” said the Doctor. “How could you?”

“Yeah,” muttered the Master. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Ooh,” said the Doctor. “I wish I had a tape recorder. I could have saved that and set it as my text alert sound.”

“Fuck off,” replied the Master. “Now, are we going to find this rakweed or what?”

“Where shall we start?”

The Master pulled out the other half of the rakweed sample from his pocket, and handed it to him. “I know it’s primitive, but I assume your sonic screwdriver can measure molecular reverberation frequencies like your TARDIS can?”

The Doctor drew himself up as though he was mortally offended. “My screwdriver is not _primitive!_ ”

“It’s nearly as old as you are.”

“I update it!”

“Oh, stop arguing and do the resonation.”

The Doctor briefly raised his eyes heavenwards, and pointed the screwdriver at the piece of plant matter, and sent a series of short pulses around him. “Right, yes, it appears to be… this way. Are you going to be of any help at all?”

“I’m trying to break through the psychic field,” said the Master. “It’s definitely coming from around here, and it’s strong – outrageously strong. Although we knew that already.”

“Got any idea who’s behind it?”

“Handiwork is… non-Gallifreyan, thank God. One of the planets of the Raxas Alliance, I think. Possibly…”

“Raxacoricofallapatorius?” suggested the Doctor.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. That’s where rakweed is from?”

“Apparently so. And it’s also where the Slitheen are from.”

“For the love of the Other,” groaned the Master. “Anything but the bloody _Slitheen._ ”

And then suddenly, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ophelia facecast: elle fanning


	15. fifteen: all our yesterdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
> Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
> To the last syllable of recorded time;  
> And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
> The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!" 
> 
> \- _Macbeth_ , William Shakespeare

_He’d told everyone he could remember being Loomed, but that was just because he knew it would irritate Cousin Glospin beyond belief._

_They said memories began when you were around two, or three, but the Doctor’s first memory had been when he was four._

_“Get out of the way!”_

_Theta gave a short scream as he was pushed out of the way of a venomous snake by a whirl that turned out to be a boy around his own age with dark brown hair and wide tawny eyes that were almost, but not quite, the colour of the sky._

_“T-thank you,” said Theta. He wasn’t used to seeing people he didn’t recognise around his family’s lands, and he frowned slightly in confusion. “Who… who are you?”_

_“I’m Koschei Oakdown. Some Cousins and I are visiting the House of Lungbarrow – your House, I assume?”_

_“Yes. I’m Theta Sigma. Or just Theta.”_

_“Nice to meet you, Theta.” Koschei gave him a gap-toothed smile._

_The second-earliest memory the Doctor held was their first night at the Academy, four years later. That was when it had began, the drums, and Theta had held him through the night, listening to Koschei’s quiet sobs. “It’s going to be alright,” Theta had murmured, over and over again. “I promise, I will keep you safe.”_

_After that memory, there was just a collection of random memories flashing through his mind, all concerning Koschei. The next one was, of course, Torvic._

_Theta had never been so terrified in his entire life. He’ll never know if Torvic had meant to kill Koschei that day, but that was the furthest he’d ever gone; usually it was punches, kicks, intimidation. After the first minute, watching Koschei’s thrashes in the water get progressively weaker, Theta snapped._

_He’d never known if Torvic had been trying to kill Koschei, but he did know that he had meant to kill Torvic._

_He tried to tell himself that he didn’t, but he knew it was a lie. Because when his greatest friend’s life was threatened, the only thing he could think to do was to make his tormentor pay. With his life._

_“I can’t believe you did that,” said Koschei wide-eyed as they stood beside the funeral pyre._

_Theta gave a bitter smile. “Neither can I. I never thought I would be capable of doing anything like that.”_

_“No,” said Koschei softly. “I meant… I can’t believe you were willing to do that for_ me. _Nobody else has… cared about me at all, let alone enough to… to kill for me.” And there was not horror in his eyes, but pure, unadulterated admiration._

_“Of course I would,” said Theta before he could stop himself. “I’d do anything for you.”_

_And then Koschei kissed him for the first time, the first of many, many, many._

_And the first time that they said –_

_“I love you.”_

_They said it at exactly the same time, stared at each other, and laughed._

~

The Doctor awoke to a voice.

“One weird side effect of this psychic field, at least when you’re at the eye of the hurricane, so to speak, is that when you’re asleep or unconscious, you always end up reliving your favourite memories. I wonder what you dreamt of, Doctor?”

“Our favourite memories,” said the Doctor, struggling to his feet, “or the ones that have had the greatest impact?”

The Doctor was in the middle of a rather nondescript-looking office, with a nondescript-looking woman sitting behind it and looking at him calmly. The Doctor had no doubt that it was a Slitheen, or in any case some sort of Raxacoricofallapatorian, hiding in a human skin. “Where’s the Master?”  demanded the Doctor.

“He got away,” said the woman with disgust dripping from her voice.

“I see,” said the Doctor evenly. “And what is your name?”

“Anna Spring.”

“No, that’s the name of the human whose skin you have stolen. What is _your_ name?”

Anna smiled. “They warned me you were quick.”

“He’ll be looking for me,” said the Doctor lightly. “And he won’t stop until he’s found me. He’s the most devious person on this planet, and there’s absolutely no way you’ll be able to outsmart him. Even now, I can feel him beginning to unweave your psychic field.”

Anna’s smug expression fell slightly, only to be hitched back up in a flash. “Well, he won’t get very far.”

“He managed to hypnotise an entire planet. This is _child’s play.”_ The Doctor flopped into the chair opposite Anna, steepled his fingers, and smiled at her. “Oh dear, Anna Spring. Just you wait until my husband gets home.”

~

A pair of boots that were both air-manipulating and anti-grav were definitely the greatest purchase the Master had ever made.

Using the word _purchase_ very loosely, of course.

The Master somersaulted through the air and landed on the roof. The building would have been an entirely normal-looking office block if it had been in an urban centre, but slap-bang in the middle of the Forest of Dean? The Master tutted. Slitheens. Absolutely no sense of discretion or style.

Flicking on his perception filter, the Master began walking through the air, slightly haphazardly – he hadn’t quite got the hang of these things yet – peering in each window. He’d be more comfortable with a proper invisibility field; perception filters were never particularly reliable when it came to psychically-talented species such as Raxacoricofallapatorians, but he didn’t have time to riffle through every single thing in the TARDIS in search for an invisibility filter. Not when the Doctor was in danger. The Master finally located the correct room, and saw that the Doctor was tied to a chair.

“Oh, no,” said the Master, eyes flashing. “Only I’m allowed to do that.”

~

The office window shattered as the Master launched himself through, landing on all fours in a strangely graceful, feline-like motion that made the Doctor wonder if there was a tiny bit of that cheetah virus left in him after all.

“Honey!” the Master yelled. “I’m home!”

Anna made a noise of disgust. “You two are so perfectly in sync, it’s disgusting.”

“Not as disgusting as you, you big fucking Slitheen.” He pulled a pistol out of his inside pocket and cocked it. It was strange to see the Master holding something as primitive and human as a pistol; the Doctor was used to his laser screwdrivers and trans-dimensional bombs.

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” laughed Anna. “I know how much your darling husband abhors violence.”

“Well luckily for me, Gallifreyan wedding vows don’t involve obedience, otherwise I’d never have agreed to it.” The Master took a step forward. “I may have given up my plans of dominating the universe, but never, _ever_ labour under the delusion that I am a pacifist. I don’t harm the innocent, but I will not flinch at hurting the guilty. And _you_ just kidnapped my husband. That makes you guilty.” He continued to walk forward until he was right next to Anna. Predictably, she attempted to wrestle the gun from him, and the Master danced out of reach as quick as a flash, pointing the gun at her again. “Naughty, naughty.”

“What do you want?” snapped Anna.

“I want to you tell me how to destroy the rakweed.”

“Oh, Master, how you’ve fallen. You’ve gone all soft.”

The Master smiled. “I really wouldn’t antagonise the man with a gun in his hand.” He fired, hitting her in the shoulder, and Anna cried out.

“That wasn’t necessary,” said the Doctor sharply.

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.” The Master watched with barely-disguised revulsion as Anna forced herself out of her human skin, the glistening, green flesh of her true form emerging from within. The Master dropped his pistol back in his pocket, and pulled out a Super Soaker. The Doctor stared at him incredulously.

“Are your pockets bigger on the inside?” he said.

“Of course they are,” said the Master, pointing the Super Soaker at Anna. “I’m a Time Lord.”

Anna regarded the Master through her huge eyes, almost baby-like eyes that glittered like a black beetle’s carapace. “Full of vinegar, I assume?”

“Correct.”

“Very well planned,” said the Slitheen, “very well planned indeed. But not planned enough, I’m afraid. Did you really think I wouldn’t have an emergency button underneath my desk?” With that, the office door flew open, and eight people ran into the room, all pointing rifles at the Master.

An insane grin spread across the Master’s face. “What do you think I am? An amateur?” He gave a sharp laugh. “Psychic fields, really? My species invented psychic fields. We invented _telepathy.”_ The Master had unravelled the entire psychic field except for one little thread that just about held it together, and now he snapped it. The humans looked confused for a fraction of a second, caught sight of the monstrosity behind the desk and screamed, running back out of the room.

“You!” Anna advanced on him, claws reaching for him, and the Master pulled the trigger on his Super Soaker, drenching her with vinegar. Anna let out a wail, and exploded in a splash of foul-smelling green liquid.

“Ah,” said the Doctor cheerfully, “I remember now. We need to emit a frequency of fifty-five Hertz across wherever the rakweed has spread, and the resonance will cause the plants to explode.”

“Like that?” asked the Master, nodding towards the slime currently covering pretty much every surface in the room.

“I bloody hope not,” said the Doctor. “Now, can you untie me?”

The Master gave him a coy glance. “Well…”

“Oh, _don’t._ Don’t try and be all kinky when we’re covered with Slitheen gunk!”

 

 


	16. sixteen: an abundance of magentas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pure indulgent fluff. yes this has gone up to mature (only 2 be safe). yes i didn't make it explicit for some reason even though i'm a hornyass bitch

“Sarah Jane figured this one out, you know,” said the Doctor as he stood at the TARDIS console. “You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Master. “One of very few humans who isn’t a complete idiot. Quite an achievement, being a human who isn’t completely stupid.”

“I suppose that was a compliment, coming from you,” muttered the Doctor.

“Are you nearly done yet?” whined the Master.

“Yes, yes,” snapped the Doctor.

“I’m bored.” The Master slid the Doctor’s jacket off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor, arms curling around the back of his waist. “ _Bored,”_ he sang into the Doctor’s ear, hands going to the Doctor’s shirt buttons.

“Finished,” said the Doctor, voice a little shaky. “All rakweed on the planet – gone.”

“Good,” purred the Master, stepping back, and the Doctor finally turned around to face him.

The Doctor gave a couple of rapid blinks. “Have you been naked this entire time?”

“Of course,” said the Master. “Wasn’t going to stay in those Slitheen contaminated clothes any longer, was I? I think we should be getting you out of your soiled clothes and into the shower, don’t you think?”

“Well, if you insist…”

Despite the Master’s flirty tone, the Doctor showered alone. They had attempted to share a shower once, but the Doctor preferred hot water and the Master preferred cool, and they wouldn’t stop fighting over the temperature knob until in the end the Doctor kicked him out.

The Doctor emerged from the bathroom around fifteen minutes later, towelling his hair – and then stopped dead. “What…”

The Master was lying seductively on his side, a glass bowl brimming with small fruits that looked rather like radishes next to him. “Hello, Theta,” he said, picking a fruit from the bowl. “Magenta?”

The Doctor dropped the towel to the floor and advanced slowly. “How the – what the – I haven’t had a magenta since – since - ”

“Since Gallifrey fell, yes, yes.” The Master held one towards him. “I bet you miss them.”

“How did you manage to get hold of them?”

The Master laughed. “Really, my dearest Theta, aren’t you supposed to know every inch of your ship?”

“It has the area of a planet!” said the Doctor indignantly.

“Well, that’s no excuse, is it? Anyway, you probably haven’t visited my corner, have you – too painful, was it? Or did you forget it even existed? If you recall, I have a garden with every imaginable fruit growing in it, including magentas, and dear Urania has of course kept it maintained all these centuries, and it’s a veritable cornucopia. Go on; have a magenta. I know they’re your favourite.”

The Doctor came forward, allowing the Master to push the fruit into his mouth. He bit down, juice splashing across his tongue, and he actually gave a little moan. He’d forgotten how much he’d adored this fruit, that complex flavour that was like nothing else in the universe, that perfect balance between tart and sweet. Magentas were only grown on Gallifrey at the base of Mount Lung, the homestead of House Lungbarrow. They tasted like childhood, evoking memories of him and Koschei practising their perception filters by sneaking up on Theta’s cousin Glospin and pelting him with magentas. Glospin would always run to Quences, the Family head, but Theta was Quences favourite and very rarely got in trouble for anything. Quences’ grace extended also to Koschei, being Theta’s most beloved friend.

Glospin had it coming, of course; he had filled Theta’s bed with snails.

“What are you thinking about?” asked the Master, amused, and the Doctor realised he was smiling.

“Oh, you know, our childhood – if such a concept can be said to exist on Gallifrey. God, _Glospin.”_

“We should have thrown him off the top of Mount Lung when we were kids,” said the Master. “What did he get up to after we both fucked off, anyway?”

“Oh, he killed Quences and blamed it on me.”

The Master choked on the magenta he’d just started to eat. “Sorry, he _what?”_

“Yep,” said the Doctor, “the insane bitch.”

“Say what you will about me, at least I have a normal family. _You’re_ probably the most normal member of Lungbarrow, I swear.”

The Doctor joined the Master on the bed, wincing as a fruit dug directly into the back of his thigh. “I can’t believe I forgot about your fruit garden.”

“There’s one on Lolita, as well. God knows what she’s done with that. Probably sells magentas at an outrageously inflated price and has become one of the richest people in the galaxy.”

“If she’s still out here.”

“Oh, she is,” said Urania, causing both of them to jump. “TARDISes can feel our twins, you know. She’s out there, escaped the time lock somehow, which isn’t particularly surprising.”

“We should try and find her,” suggested the Master.

Urania gave an undecipherable electronic rumble. “You don’t find Lolita. She finds you. Anyway, you two enjoy your magentas and canoodling; I’ll block myself from this room for the next two hours. I know that makes you feel better. Have fun!”

“It does kind of feel like always having a voyeur, doesn’t it?” said the Doctor, and the Master snorted.

“Yeah, but she’s… well, she’s a TARDIS. The act to her is just like any strange carbon-based lifeform processes, like eating, or writing poetry, or shitting.”

“Please don’t talk about shitting when you’re trying to seduce me.”

“ _Trying?”_ pouted the Master.

“Trying… and succeeding.” The Doctor placed the bowl of magentas on the Master’s bedside table, and kissed him. The Master’s arms immediately curled around him, octopus-like, nails grazing the Doctor’s back only the barest amount. The Master pinned him to the mattress, legs caging him in.

“Master,” panted the Doctor.  

“Ah,” whispered the Master against his neck, “you’re in _that_ sort of a mood, are you?”

The Doctor hummed in agreement, eyelids fluttering slightly. “When am I not?”

The Master undressed him with blinding speed, retying the Doctor’s tie around his unclothed neck and watching with relish as the Doctor’s eyes widened with surprise. “I am your Master,” he said, tugging the tie hard, “and you will obey me.” The Doctor whined, and the Master’s finger brushed ever so slightly against him, and the Doctor’s hips bucked involuntarily upwards.

“Please,” whispered the Doctor, hands reaching for him. “ _Please,_ Master. My Master.”

The Master’s head dipped downwards, pressing feather-light kisses along his collarbone. “If you insist,” he murmured.


	17. seventeen: gallifrey stands

“Theta.”

They were lying together, legs entwined. At least Time Lord couples never had fights over blankets; the temperature in the TARDIS – as well as in the Citadel – was constant, and Gallifreyan body temperatures didn’t drop during sleep, so bedsheets were not at all customary unless you were a Shobogan. The Doctor liked the pressure and comfort of them, but since the Master had returned, he felt he didn’t need them any longer.

The Doctor turned his head to look at his husband, questions dancing in his eyes. “Yes, Koschei?”

There was a strange vulnerability in the Master’s face. Although the Master had been more open with his feelings in the past couple of months than he had truly been in centuries, it was still unusual for him to display such a level of… of softness. Of _nervousness._ “Have you…” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Have you thought any more about the – about the Looms?”

They had talked about it before, of course – extensively. What they would call their child, how old they would be Loomed at, how they would go about raising them. But one thing they had never yet mentioned was a date.

The Doctor reached up, twirling a lock of the Master’s bleach-blond hair around his finger. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, feeling the Master automatically move slightly forward to meet his lips. “Yes,” murmured the Doctor, and he felt rather than heard the Master’s soft sigh of mingled relief and delight.

“Really?” breathed the Master, voice fragile with hope that dared not yet bloom fully.

“Oh yes.” The Doctor suddenly launched himself off the bed, grabbing the Master’s hand and pulling him up with him. “I’ve been thinking about it, ever since Urania showed us the Looms. Thinking about it… and _wanting_ it.”

“I…” The Master stopped, worrying at his bottom lip. “I’ve always wanted a child,” he whispered, his eyes shining suspiciously. He blinked rapidly, angrily. “And after Astraea - ” He swallowed convulsively.

The Doctor went very still. The Master had mentioned Astraea before, but his daughter was the only subject that he was still reticent about. The scant information that the Doctor had gleaned was that Astraea was born a few years after the Doctor had left Gallifrey, the Master had been the carrier, and Astraea had been murdered young. Very young.

The Master hadn’t said much, but the Doctor had figured out that Astraea had been killed as revenge for something the Master himself had done. Ironically, that was what tipped him over the edge; that was what had made him seek dominion over the entire universe. Because after the death of his daughter, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing at all. And if he couldn’t find out who killed her, then all would pay. All would bow before him.

“I’m scared,” admitted the Master in a hushed tone. “Theta, I’m _scared.”_

The Doctor trailed a delicate caress down the Master’s cheek. “If you aren’t ready…”

“Oh, I am. I _am._ But I will always be scared, always. But I also feel… ready. It feels right. And… you?”

“Yes,” whispered the Doctor. “Oh, Koschei. I’m ready.”

“Then come.” Now it was the Master who pulled on the Doctor’s hand, tugging him along. “Come on, my love.”

The Doctor’s responding smile was brilliant, shining, like a white-point star.

They walked hand-in-hand towards the Loom chamber, Urania widening the corridors so they could walk comfortably side by side. The Looms shone invitingly with golden processed artron energy, the colour of regeneration energy. The Master squeezed the Doctor’s hand, and he turned to smile at him. “Are you - ”

“ _Yes,”_ the Doctor interrupted, “I _am_ sure. Are you? Is that why you keep asking?”

“No, no, I am sure, I just want to make sure that you’re sure…”

“Shall we just mutually agree that we’re both sure?”

The Master smiled. “Sounds like a good idea. First one you’ve had in centuries.”

“Oh, shut up.”

 As they approached the nearest loom, a small needle stuck out either side of it.  The Time Lords exchanged a look, and each went round to opposite sides. The Master’s index finger hovered millimetres from the needle. “Shall we…”

“Yes,” breathed the Doctor, and in tandem, they pricked their fingers.

The energy within the Looms roiled, and the Master and the Doctor held their breath.  There was a burst of brightness, before the light faded back to ambient levels. The Master extended a trembling hand towards the chamber door, and both of them gave a soft gasp in synchronisation when the door clicked open of its own accord.

A girl stepped out, stumbling slightly, and blinked up at them.

“What the fuck?” said Urania.

“Don’t swear in front of the kid,” said the Master, but his tone was leeched of almost all emotion, shocked into stoicism.

Because she was old.

Not _old,_ exactly. Not old at all, relatively speaking. But he and the Doctor had set the machine to Loom a newborn, and a girl just before her adolescence – thirteen or fourteen, perhaps – was looking up at them. “ _Urania?”_ he demanded. “ _Is something wrong?”_ Of course he did not care what age their child was, but TARDISes rarely made mistakes. _Time Lords_ rarely made mistakes, and this was Time Lord technology.

 _“Fine,”_ Urania said faintly in his mind. “ _I don’t know what happened. A blip?”_

 _“It’s not important.”_ The Master smiled at his daughter. “Hello, little one. Welcome to the world.”

She smiled. “Hello, Papa.” She looked to the Doctor. “Hello, Dad. And what shall my name be?”

“Cydonia,” said the Doctor and the Master in unison, and then grinned at each other.

Cydonia beamed at them both. The Doctor couldn’t help but notice that she looked very much like the young Koschei, with deep brown hair and eyes, a slight frame, and the faintest scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. But whereas Koschei’s hair had been straight – something he complained about nearly every day at the Academy – Cydonia’s was curly, like Theta’s, and there was something about his first incarnation around the mouth and chin.

A perfect marriage of their genes. A perfect child of House Oakbarrow.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” demanded Cydonia, and skipped out of the room. She hesitated in the doorway, turning her head. “Come _on!”_

“That’s definitely your influence,” murmured the Master, and the Doctor laughed.

It was a strange adjustment to make, expecting a baby and getting a thirteen year old – or rather, a newborn that _looked_ like a thirteen year old – but by the next hour, both of them had completely forgotten about the Loom’s blip. The Looms imparted knowledge of language, only up to five – they had chosen Gallifreyan, English, Sanskrit and two randomised languages from throughout the known universe that turned out to be High Apalapuchian and – out of all the bloody options – Raxacoricofallapatorian.

To both of their amusement, Cydonia was wearing Theta’s old clothes. The Doctor hadn’t even realised he still _had_ those, but since he somehow still had his cot and an accompanying nursery mobile, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The outfit was very Earth-looking, with a white cotton shirt and dark blue dungarees over. The only thing that hinted their origin was a small word in Circular Gallifreyan near the left shoulder-strap: Lungbarrow.

Or rather, it _had_ said Lungbarrow, until the Doctor had made a small alteration.

Now it read Oakbarrow.

Cydonia, being both of her fathers’ daughter, was eager to get out of the TARDIS and start exploring, but her parents had managed to persuade her that there were plenty of wonders inside the TARDIS as well. The basic databank that had been uploaded into her brain in the Loom told her that TARDISes were practically infinite, but it still didn’t prepare her for the sight of the Great Gardens, which were almost twice the size of the Amazon rainforest and with over a hundred times the biodiversity. “The Zoobot,” proclaimed the Doctor, spreading his arms out in a grandiose gesture.

“Zoological Botanical Gardens,” corrected the Master.

“Zoobot,” repeated the Doctor insistently, and the Master poked him playfully.

Watching their daughter run among the gardens amidst flowers and shrubs spilling onto the paths, wandering away from the granite paths to walk in the shade of the towering trees as birds and butterflies swirled around her, the Doctor and the Master could hardly believe they had been so lucky. After the loss of Gallifrey, after all they’d been through – they’d finally found each other again. Finally found _this._

And yet there was that tiny little thought in the back of the Master’s mind, the one that had bloomed a couple of weeks ago and had refused to leave.

_The storm._

_It approaches._

_One two three four._

~

_One two three four._

_One two three four._

“Theta,” whispered the Master that night, staggering against the wardrobe, hand flush against its side. “Theta, help me.”

The Doctor ran to him, taking him in his arms. “Koschei? What is it, what’s wrong?”

“The drums. The drums…”

“They’re not real, Koschei. They’re gone. Look - ” The Doctor brought his hand up. Both of them were powerful enough telepaths not to need the physical establishment of contact, especially the Master, but contact made it easier, and the Doctor wasn’t sure the Master could handle a non-physical link in his current state. “Here,” he said, first two fingers and thumb pressing gently against the Master’s forehead. “Not real.”

“Not real,” repeated the Master, leaning into his touch.

“They’re gone.” The Doctor broke their link, hand moving to caress his cheek. “You never have to worry about them again, my love.”

The Master swallowed heavily. “I – I - ”

“I’ve got you, Koschei. I’ll keep you safe.”

His head fell onto the Doctor’s shoulders. “Theta Sigma,” he murmured.

“Koschei. You’re safe.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m with you.” He tilted his chin, kissing the Doctor softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> facecast for cydonia is millie bobby brown!

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr!](https://thymelord.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i also made a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/archbunburyist/playlist/1Mz3CSEXg6pogtVhpNfwV6?si=mAxgO1EVRnqgyZjDiB-qpg) that i am unreasonably proud of because literally every song is just so damn thoschei, if u want to check it out


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